


Stars Over Essos

by Direwaggle42, Jennilynn411



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ...what we mean is masterbation..., And sometimes shit gets meta, But a Slow Burn all the same, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Explicit Langauge due to our favorite Hound, Explicit Language, F/M, Find them, First Time Writers, How Do I Tag, I repeat Mypie is a thing, Is this how I tag?, Lemons, Lemons are like Pinapples, Long Time Readers, M/M, Maybe a few lemmings too, Mentions of past noncon, Meringue her lemon pie, Mycah/Hotpie is a thing now, Ned Stark is like Hamlet's father..., Non-graphic masterbation, Not the Slowest of Burns, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Past Domestic Violence, Past Torture, Past Violence, Petyr Baelish is his own warning, RIP Pink Scarf, Ramsay is his own warning, Roose Bolton is his own warning, Slow Burn, Sometimes shit gets real, Spanking the eel..., Stalking, The Cake is a Lie but the Pie is Life, Theon is his own warning, brush blaster, dead, lemonade, too soon?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-06 03:08:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 28
Words: 86,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4205673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Direwaggle42/pseuds/Direwaggle42, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jennilynn411/pseuds/Jennilynn411
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In fast paced city of King's Landing attaining a position- even the lowly position of gopher and paid intern- at Stars Over Essos , run by none other than the elusive Danny Stormborn, is nearly impossible. So, when Sansa Stark is hired to by the hottest magazine this side of the Narrow Sea, she feels as if her dreams of being writer are nearly within her grasp. This is her chance at a new beging, a way to bring some pride back to her disgraced family. The only thing getting her through the day is reading her favorite advice column Ask the Hound. Before she can attain her dreams, she will have to prove herself in this hard edged world of high fashion and false faces, where every rose has a nasty thorn. She will have to take on the golden haired demons of her past and learn to face the day to day challenges of her new life. Sansa knows she is sure to have her feathers ruffled but she is willing to sharpen her talons too...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Under Pressure

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FancyKid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyKid/gifts).



> All intellectual and artistic property borrowed within this story belong to the original author George R. R. Martin.
> 
> Jennilynn411 and Direwaggle42 are just taking these characters and places for a spin.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy!
> 
> *kicks cowboy boots up on coffee table and raises beer*  
> "cheers"

 

Sansa Stark checked the time on her watch for the third time that morning. Her palms were sweating and her stomach was filled with butterflies. Today was the first day of her new job and she was nervous. _How many favors did mom pull just to get me an interview_? She wondered quietly as the cab she was riding in sped down he various streets of Kings Landing. This would be her first real job now that she had graduated from White Harbor University, _barely graduated anyway._ No, no she would not think about that today. The cab pulled up to her destination and parked, Sansa thanked the driver, handed over some bills and took a deep breath before she exited the cab. She saw her reflection in the mirrored windows that adorned the building. Her green peasant skirt and white crisp blouse looked beautiful together, they complimented her coppery hair secured in an immaculate bun. Kings Landing was full of many beautiful buildings. However, none of them stood as tall or as proud as The Building of The High Sparrow. In front of the massive mirrored building stood an even more impressive water fountain. Three large dragons were breathing streams of water instead of fire their hungry eyes gleaming in the reflective water.

For all intense and purposes this would now be considered her home away from home. Inside this intimidating building were the offices of Stars Over Essos, only the hottest fashion magazine in all of Westeros. Working at SOE had been her dream ever since she was a little girl. Sansa’s mother was once a popular writer and even had her own column “Ask Cat: Mother knows best”. It had been a popular column for years, but when her mother had become pregnant with Rickon she decided to become a full time stay at home mom. However, Arya had once confided in Sansa late one evening, and over _a second_ bottle of Dornish Red, that _she_ heard rumors her mother had been asked to leave. Whatever the reason for her departure, Sansa never thought she would be lucky enough to land a job here. Sansa waited for the elevator but a crowd soon gathered around her and she pushed away from the other employees. She didn’t like crowds; Sansa was starting to feel a panic attack coming on, _not today, please not today._ She decided to take the stairs instead. She tried to breathe calmly as she climbed the stairs to the twentieth floor. Arya spent a lot of time helping Sansa through her attacks, but she wouldn’t always be around. Sansa had to learn to handle these attacks on her own.

By the time Sansa made it to the twentieth floor she had calmed down and she couldn’t help but smile at her moment of triumph. She didn’t stop smiling until she turned a corner sharply and tripped over a trashcan causing her to collide into someone and then crash into the ground. Sansa was as red as a tomato, and immediately began to apologize to the man she had so ungracefully run over. He abruptly jumped up and began brushing off his impeccable and expensive suit, with a surprised look on his face. He finished brushing himself off and smiled down at her, extending his hand slowly to help her stand up. She noticed that his dark eyes were gleaming and a small smile was forming on his lips. It was at that exact moment Sansa realized her skirt had become tangled up on her long legs and she was flashing him her underwear. _Gods! Could this get any worse?_ She cursed her luck and stood as gracefully as she could.

“Are you hurt Miss?” He asked casually, as he stooped to gather the various items that had spilled out of her purse. Sansa also began looking around for anything that might have fallen out when she spotted it. Lying next to the trashcan on her left was her emergency tampon. _Yes, you stupid girl things can always get worse!_ Sansa casually cleared her throat, and took two steps to the left so she could quickly stuff it into her purse, _which she didn’t have, of course._ She shoved into the blasted tampon into the only other place available, her bra.

“I asked if you were hurt.”

Her head snapped back to the man holding her purse. _Did he just see me stuff a tampon into my bra? Gods!_ He was staring at her and she could just feel his eyes roaming all over her body.

“No, I don’t think so, I’m… I’m fine” she stammered lamely. _Please, oh please do not let him have seen me shove a tampon into my bra_ , _please!_ She prayed in vain to any of the Gods that would listen.

He handed her back her purse and introduced himself. “My name is Petyr Baelish, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Sansa’s mind began racing as she tried to place his name it sounded familiar. She gave him a smile and introduced herself.

“My name is Sansa Stark, Catelyn Tully is my mother.” His face seemed to soften at the mention of her mother. All of a sudden his name clicked in her head and she gasped, “Are you really The Mockingbird?” Petyr seemed to chuckle at the revelation and nod. _Sansa_ _You idiot! You almost tripped and killed Petyr Baelish the worlds’ most famous fashion photographer! Gods”_

He leaned in closer, gently grasped her hand with his long slender fingers. She felt her heart quicken as his thumb began massaging the back of her hand. His breath smelled of mint. Petyr whispered softly in her ear.

‘I was so sorry to hear about your father Miss Stark, he was an honorable man”. He gently released her hand, stepping back and then slowly walked away. Sansa felt her spine tingle and her cheeks flush as he left. He had spoken of her father; _no one speaks about him anymore_ , she thought sadly. For a moment she couldn’t breathe. She didn’t want to think about her father today, _not today, please_. She blinked away the tears that were threatening to fall. Before she had time to dwell on the past she felt a small hand touch her elbow, Sansa instinctively jerked away and stood face to face with a petite brunette with big doe eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to startle you, my name is Margaery Tyrell and I was wondering if you knew where the conference room is, I’m here for orientation?” Sansa smiled at Margaery and lead the way.

When they finally entered the conference room some other new employees were already sitting. Sansa and Margary found other seats around the table opposite of each other. Some polite introductions were made before a bald man in silk robes entered, turned on a video about office safety and left. _Who wears silk robes to work?_ Sansa didn’t have time to think about it as Margaery began mumbling about how this was going to be torture. Sansa _knew_ what real torture was and it wasn’t watching a bunch of boring safety videos. But, of course Sansa said nothing. Toward the end of the day she was doing her best to not fall asleep, while a video of ‘How to properly carry a box” blared on the screen. Sansa jumped when she felt a paper ball bounce off her forehead and onto the table. Sansa looked up to see a wide smirk displayed on the face of a Miss Margaery Tyrell. She reached to grab the note but was too late. The bald man had snatched it up first. _Where did he even come from?_ The man paused the video abruptly and turned on the lights. Everyone squinted as their eyes adjusted to the sudden brightness.

“Miss Tyrell, my name is Varys. Do you have something to share with us?” Margaery looked up with an expressionless face and innocently shook her head no. Varys then smiled and then turned his attention to Sansa

“ Miss Stark do _you_ have something you would like to share with us?” She was mortified and vehemently shook her head no. Varys cleared his throat and uncrumpled the ball of paper before reading out loud.

“YOU HAVE A TAMPON STICKING OUT OF YOUR BRA!” Sansa’s blood froze as every pair of eyes in the room simultaneously turned to look at her bra, and the top of the tampon that was visibly sticking out of it. _Gods no!_ She silently plucked the tampon out of her bra and shoved the damned thing back into her purse. Margaery began snickering while the girl across from her gave her a sympathetic smile. _Was her name_ _Misrandey or Missande?_ She honestly couldn’t remember, all she knew was she wanted to hide under her chair and die. Varys cleared his throat again and turned the lights off to resume the film. _Please just let this day be over._

When the final video came to an end Sansa made a beeline for the door, but was stopped by none other than Margaery. She stood in front of Sansa with an apologetic eyes and said, “I’m so sorry about that tampon thing Sansa, I really am.” _She didn’t seem sorry at the time_ , Sansa noted, s _he thought it was hilarious_. “I know how I can make it up to you though.” She was now smiling up at Sansa, _like a cat with a bowl full of cream_. “How about after work we go get a drink at my favorite bar, The Serpentine.” Sansa just looked at Margaery and blinked. _When was the last time I went anywhere?_

“Sure” she mumbled quietly. Her new friend gave her a big smile and texted the address.

When Sansa finally made it home she couldn’t help but wonder what the night might have in store for her. She hated to admit it, but she was actually looking forward to meeting up with Margaery. _It will be good to make new friends, Arya keeps complaining that I steal all of hers._ She smiled as she thought of her baby sister. _She’s not so little anymore; she is made of solid muscle and fire._

Sansa couldn’t decide what to wear so she laid all her nicest dresses onto the bed. The winner ended up being a soft lavender number that her mother had bought her last Sevenmas. It had a high neck, sleeves that went to the elbow and a skirt that gently flowed out like a ballerina. It was a modest dress and if she closed her eyes she could hear her mother’s voice “modesty is the best policy, dear.” But, Sansa wasn’t wearing the dress for the sake of modesty; she was wearing this because it hid all the scars. She put on the finishing touches; a pair of comfortable flats and a dragonfly necklace. She carefully braided her long fiery hair and smiled at her reflection. The dress really made her blue eyes pop and her skin seem even fairer.

Twenty minutes later the cab she called pulled up to The Serpentine, and Margaery ran over just as Sansa stepped out of the cab.

“Sansa you look beautiful!” she exclaimed brightly. Sansa gazed at her friends dress as well, Somehow Margaery had slipped into a tight red dress with a low front and five inch stilettos. _How can you possibly breathe, let alone sit in that_? She couldn’t help but wonder; yet Sansa said nothing. Her brown hair hung in soft ringlets around her face and Sansa had a strong feeling they wouldn’t be paying for any drinks this evening. Margaery linked arms with Sansa and pointed to a sign that hung in the window. Sansa’s stopped for a moment as she read the neon sign that blinked “Karaoke Night.”

 

 

 _Sandor_ , Eleanor cried out in the blackness beyond his heavy lids.

His eyes burst wide with the first strangled gulp of air. His lungs stung like a drowning man, chest growing tighter with each shallow inhale, eyes screaming and searching for the door. He staggered through the white curtains of smoke, _help me, Sandor!_ The tendrils tugged at him like so many insistent fingers, plucking his breath away with the nimble touch of a mother stitching up a torn pants leg. Then his door knob was within his grasp, red hot and cold as gold all at once. _Sandor_ , he could make out Ellie’s pitiful whines through his door, he could make out the sound of her fists battering against the wood.

 _Get me out,_ pound, pound _._ Twisting and turning, a falcon lost in the gyre, he clawed savagely at the door. At last the heat swollen door gave way, swinging back and knocking him onto his ass. Stumbling to his feet then rushing forward, pound, pound, _Sandor, help me out of here,_ pound, pound. He found himself swimming through a world lit at one end by the light reflected off of freshly fallen snow through the window at the end of the hall and at the other end the silent roar of the beam lapping wall of fire reaching out to him.

Like a living creature, the fire was snarling and clawing its way towards him, towards Eleanor. He tried to scream, tried to shout out to her, but his voice was swallowed up and only a dog’s howl made it past his cracked lips. His small and feeble fists beat at the door. Ellie was close, so close, a plank of wood away and yet a lifetime seemed to stretch out between them. Pound, pound, pound _._ The voice was deepening. _Sandor! Let me in!_ The pounding of his fists echoed in his ears, more metallic, a muted throbbing thrum. With a guttural growl, he threw himself at the door, shoulders and face meeting flaming wood.

 

The terracotta tile of Sandor's floor rushed up to meet him, kissing his cheek, chest, palms, and knees with a sweat slicked smack. He lay there for a moment, just breathing in the hard comfort of the cold tiles. They were tangible and true, unlike so much in this world, unlike the gossamer embers of memories that flickered into life in his dreams. Outside he could just make out the sizzle and crack of the insect zapper over the urgent pounding of his racing heart and the persistent knocking on his door. _Idiot moths should know better, they should fly from the flames, fly far, far away instead of straight to them._ Most people were like the moths that swarmed the streets of King’s Landing as evening set, drawn to the bright lights of downtown and avoiding him like he was a bloody shadow.

 _Well, bugger them_ , he growled as he began to pull his elbows and knees under him, the wide expanse of his back curling with a few popping vertebrae and the grace of a big mutt arching its back. _And bugger Bronn, too_. He finally had his feet under him and he pushed himself up with a grunt and a groan and a shout of, “Pipe down, you asshole!” Sandor could almost hear Bronn’s smile from this side of his industrial metal door.

“Is that any way to talk to your best friend?” Sandor cocked his head, feet beginning to trace their way across his dark apartment. He knew the loft like the palm of his hand at night, too fucking well. “Besides, it is my name day if you haven’t forgot already?” _Not likely, with you reminding me every hour on the hour for the last month; turning 30 and he sounds as eager as a green boy of 13._ Sandor flicked the long wire and tin shaded overhead lights on. Abruptly, the apartment was flooded in a warm lemony glow.

Looking down at himself, he shook his head for the umpteenth time in his life. Looking like candle wax blazing a trail down his right shoulder and to splash across his chest and lean stomach, the skin puckered and pulled with his ever motion. He had fallen asleep in a pair of dusky grey jeans, the one’s he always wore to work on casual _fucking_ Friday. In truth, the reason he wore them so often was because Dany had given them to him a few years ago and for the life of him he could not part with them. Shuffling out of them he grabbed the first fresh pair at hand and a shirt was picked in the same haphazard manner.

With a quick glance in the long thin mirror hung by a nail on his brick and mortar wall, Sandor rolled his eyes. Bronn was now knocking on the door like it was a drum and the swarthy bean pole was some kind of Essos musician. _Singing too, he is going to owe me a fucking full course chicken dinner after tonight_. Sandor swept his black hair back from his furrowed forehead, one dark eye brow pinned down like a second rate prize fighter, the other just a smudge of flesh atop the warped canvas of his face. Sandor frowned, brushing the longer strands of hair atop his head over as much of his right side as possible. _This is as good as it’s ever gonna get._ Sighing, he moved towards his boots and the loft door. He shoved his feet into his boots, jerking the laces tight and quickly tying a couple of sloppy knots.

“Get off,” Sandor pushed against the door of his loft “, the bloody door, you immature old fuck.” The metal door opened a crack and a dancing smile greeted the stormy scowl plastered on his face. “Do you want me to help celebrate ‘nother passing of your namedays or not?” Sandor hummed out. At that Bronn lightly stepped away from the door, his movements two parts boyish bounce and three parts swashbuckler swagger. A nostril flare and a huff met Bronn’s grin. Without another word, the two men jogged down the stairs to the ground level of Sandor’s apartment complex, which was more warehouse than residential building.

By the curb, Sandor eyed Bronn’s vintage Wheelhouse Duskendale with a stab of envy. It was a gorgeous car with a gorgeous black paint job, the silver stripe blazing from its long hood over its shorter hatchback catching the distant glimmer of the streetlights.

“Going to want to close your mouth, big man, that’s how you catch flies,” Bronn chuckled, swinging the driver side door open. “Come on, mate.” Sandor slipped into the car, folding his long legs up but begrudgingly glad to see Bronn had taken the time to move the passenger seat back as far as it would go in the cramped confines of the classic midsize vehicle.

They were cruising out of the Street of Steel District, turning up 42nd street towards downtown King’s Landing. It was there that the Red Keep District reared its bloodied stone and brick head. It was there that the sound of the ocean was an ever present husky pull and push under the staccato melody of blaring cars and the wheeze of the Baratheon Stag Buses. Crossing into the Red Keep District, Sandor heard Bronn clear his throat. Glancing at the annoying bugger that liked to loudly proclaim himself Sandor’s best friend, Sandor raised his good eyebrow.

“I can sniff out-,”

Bronn interrupted him with a bark of laughter more like his own.

“A lie, I know, I know, Mr. Ask the Hound.” Bronn tightened his grip on the steering wheel, repositioned his hands in a nervous squeeze, and then flashed a smile a hair more reputable than the sleazy neon signs they were passing as they crept closer to Bronn’s favorite bar, The Serpentine. Sandor cleared his throat with a growl, beginning to tell Bronn to _spit it the fuck out_ when Bronn spewed the words “, meeting up with Jorah and Tyrion, ya know.” Sandor grunted by way of reply. “Not surprised, then?”

“The number of times you’ve “surprised” me with the imp and that grumpy old bear that calls himself Dany’s assistant,” Sandor shot a look to Bronn as the laughing man mouthed _you’re one to talk_ , “you must think I’ve got hit in the head more often than you to have that kinda memory loss.”

Bronn shrugged his sharp shoulders in reply, a stork causally adjusting his wings.

“Just figured I should give you a heads up,” Bronn slid his eyes from the road to Sandor’s steely gaze. “It won’t be that bad.” Sandor rolled his eyes, feeling the beginning of a long night start to overtake him already. “It is never that bad. And you’ve been to the Serpentine a dozen or more times.” _Each time being because you fucking dragged my ass there_ Sandor grumbled internally _._ “Seven hells, Sandor, ya might even,” he put on his best gravelly voice, “ _fuckin’ enjoy yerself_ if you let yourself just relax a hair.” Sandor hunkered down in the passenger seat, white leather smooth as a Dornish girl’s ass. Hunkering down for Sandor mostly consisted of pressing his kneecaps to the dash and bringing his thick shoulders to the ear that was intact and the one that had melted away like so much butter in the sun, to ooze down his neck and be wiped away with a careless hand.

“S’pose it isn’t as bad as some of the bars you’ve dragged me to before.” Bronn smirked, throwing an infuriatingly self-satisfied look over Sandor’s way. “Don’t look so smug, you daft bugger, just drive.” Sandor growled as he closed his eyes and breathed in the momentary quiet before the den, the press of bodies, and worst the stares that was sure to be the inside of the bar. “Hey, Bronn?”

Bronn hummed, spotting a parking space. Bronn turned the white wheel sharply, bringing the heavy Wheelhouse automobile to nestle between a new Destrier and a beat up old Junker.

“What’s up, big man?” Sandor had his eyes trained on the flashing green neon sign that hissed The Serpentine, the words a slither of movement under the machinations of some cleaver artist’s hands. The unmarred and marred corners of his lips tugged up, the right side taut with the motion.

“Happy fuckin’ name day.” Sandor grated. In the window, flashing neon bar signs and his friend’s smile vied to shine more brightly.

 

Outside of the creamy Duskendale interior, Sandor breathed a sigh. _Fucking imp_. Behind them Tyrion’s sleek cherry red limo pulled up. Doors were opened by gloved hands and out waddled the imp, Dany’s shadow following, and a lad Sandor thought was named Podrick or maybe Rodrick Payne. _Gonna be painful as the Sevenhells,_ his eyes shift with a snort from the three men now approaching his scowl and Bronn’s open smile. Looking to the Serpentine as a cascade of off kilter singing greeted them, Sandor gave a snarl.

“What’s wrong with…” the youthful voice trailed out as Bronn and Tyrion’s laughter roared into life.

“Old dog here just got a whiff of Karaoke,” Tyrion chuckled.

“Really, Bronn?” Jorah grumped like a sleepy bear just rolled out of his hibernation. “Karaoke night?”

“Just glad you could make it, Jorah.” Bronn shot a playful look to Sandor and Sandor tried _for the sake of that idiot’s name day_.

“Guess the maiden fair let you have a pretty long leash tonight, huh, Teddy?” Sandor’s rumble came out more threat than joke but the three older men knew to huff out a little laugh and in the case of Jorah roll his watery eyes in his sun toasted face. They were moving towards the door now, Bronn and Tyrion’s voices hushed like a mummer’s farce as they weighed the prospects of getting laid, Jorah was consciously avoiding the business phone still miraculously attached to his hip after a full day of work. _Bloody malign tumor that thing is, and Dany won’t be calling a maester to remove it anytime soon._

“Why so quiet, Pod?” Bronn peered down at the youngest man of their quintet.

“Just nervous.” Pod blushed more crimson than the Lannister’s Tourney Illustrated logo. “You know girls, the talking, the words, that, that whole thing.” He seemed to be flailing just on close proximity to a couple of buxom beauties in tight t shirts and skirts so short it would make a Qarthman blush. With a small, embarrassed smile he added more coherently “, but I wrote in to Ask the Hound about talking to women!” Six eyes flickered in Sandor’s direction.

“Did _she_?” Tyrion wheedled, emphasizing the _she_ with an extra twist of his sugary tongue. “Did _she_ give you any good advice back?” Pod nodded enthusiastically, then frowned a little as his group howled like a pack of direwolves from the stark northern waste. Even Sandor found himself chuckling. “Good, the Hound, well _she_ works with Bronn, Jorah, and me, you know.” Pod looked as startled as a new born babe. “ _She_ is very pretty too.” Bronn caught Sandor’s hand before he could reach out a cuff the imp in the back of the head. _This is going to be Sevenhells of a long night_.

“Come on, I need two fingers of Drogon’s Fire Whiskey in my belly before we start talking about _women_.” Jorah announced as he passed his ID to the bouncer at the entrance. Sandor handed the man his ID next, followed shortly after by Tyrion.

“Here, here!” Bronn hooted, spinning on the heels of his biker boots like a child outside a candy store. Suddenly Bronn stopped in the midst of his three sixty pirouette, mouth a gape. Sandor felt fingers curl into the duck tails of his dark hair, jerking his head down.

“Gonna want to close your mouth, little man, that’s how you catch flies.” Sandor snorted and then finally focused his eyes in the direction Bronn had directed him.

Sandor’s jaw dropped to land at his feet in the broken shards of glass, discarded cigarette butts, and dreams that littered the sidewalk. In a swish of flowing lilac lace or maybe it was lavender chiffon, fuck if he knew even as long as he had worked for Stars Over Essos, she danced towards the Serpentine. She was a fire bird without wings, the Seven heavens on two long legs. He knew Bronn was probably focused on the brunette minx in the revealing little saucy red number, but he wanted to memorize the flowery mirage that was passing him by before she scattered, like so many petals in the wind.

Above him a moth committed itself to the Lord of Light in the neon of the bright green Serpentine lettering. His eyes dashed to the sign and he knew he must look like a fucking monster in the unforgiving lime light. _Not that any light is forgiving for such a fucked up mug._ Turning aside, eyes momentarily squeezed tight against the glare of horror he was sure would be writ across the fire bird’s face, he took a decisive step forward, and his nose met the solid metal of the Serpentine’s door. He ducked his head to the sound of his piss poor excuse for friends’ laughter and entered the bar to the yowls of whichever drunken patrons had gotten liquored up enough to step on stage and the rifts of The Night Watch’s “Back in Black.”


	2. Dog and Butterfly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for all the positive feedback! We would both like to thank you from the bottom of our lemonade filled hearts. A special high five to FancyKid for being an amazing beta! This chapter is named Dog and Butterfly after the famous song by Heart..... because... because it is by Heart, and Heart can do no wrong!
> 
> So without further ado and in the soon to be famous words of Direwaggle42.... "Y'all come back now, ya hear!"

Sansa wasn’t sure what she was expecting when she entered The Serpentine arm in arm with Margaery, but it was not this. The Serpentine was both beautiful, artistic and looked expensive. On the left ran a long white bar, complete with high backed red bar stools. The liquor bottles behind the counter seemed to sparkle like diamonds in the light. On the right were various booths that looked both deep and private. Even the floor was polished so much she could swear she saw her reflection. An impressive collection of modern art and antique mirrors of various sizes were hanging from the walls. This bar was clean and new, _a little too clean,_ _Arya wouldn’t be caught dead in here._ Sansa’s eyes gazed to the back of the bar where a group of people had gathered in front of a stage, with two microphone stands. _It really is karaoke night_ , Sansa gulped as Margaery pushed them onwards through the crowd.

Before she had time to react Sansa felt herself being pulled up to the fancy bar. A female bartender with wild red hair and freckles slid her way toward them, “Names Ygritte.” She said this pointing to herself. “What can I get you ladies?”

Margaery smiled at the bartender and announced rather loudly. “My friend and I have just had a long, hard day at work. What would you recommend?” Sansa didn’t know why her companion was speaking so loudly, but, then noticed several men turn in their direction, eyes full of lust. Ygritte just smirked and turned back toward the bar filling up two shot glasses with various liquors. Sansa admired her speed and skill set, she didn’t even spill one drop of alcohol. She finally placed the glasses in front of the girls, smirked again and lit them on fire. Sansa’s eyes went wide at the sight. _How am I supposed to drink this, it’s on fire? Do I look like a dragon?_

“I call these bad boys _Flaming Wights._ ” Ygritte announced proudly. She saw the terrified look on Sansa's face and leaned eagerly toward her. “You’re supposed to blow it out first, dear.” Margaery just howled with laughter.

"Bottoms up, Stark.” She announced. Both of them blew out the flame and threw back the shots. Sansa and Margaery both coughed as what could only be described as liquid ice ran down their throats.

“And who is paying for these drinks tonight!” Ygritte wasn’t addressing the girls at all, so much as the group of men who had suddenly descended around them. A chorus of voices answered the question. The bartender smirked when she leaned toward the girls and whispered, "My, my, my look who just walked in”. Ygritte nodded at the door and Sansa and Margaery turned to look and they both gasped in surprise.

Two identical twins had just strolled into the bar, wearing matching emotionless faces. The women on the left had black hair pulled back into a tight ponytail and was wearing a white mini dress with matching heels while the women on the left had white hair pulled back into a tight ponytail and wore a black mini dress with matching heels.

“Is that Firedew and Carolinee, the models?” Sansa whispered to Margaery.

"No, that is Firedew and Carolinee the Supermodels. Although I think they are just being referred to as The Yin Yang Twins now.” Margaery just rolled her eyes at she stated the last part.

Ygritte just chuckled and said slyly. “You may have some competition tonight ladies.” Sansa watched as Margaery bristled at the thought, jumped off the stool and walked toward the stage.

“You will need another shot before you get up on that stage I think.” Ygritte poured another Flaming Wight for Sansa.

“Oh, I’m not singing tonight!” Sansa exclaimed, fear creeping through her veins. All of a sudden she heard her name being called from the microphone, she turned slowly toward the back room where Margaery stood waving to her, a wicked smile on her face.

“Sansa Stark get on up here and sing!” She heard her last name Stark being murmured by crowd with disdain, but she ignored them all and stared straight ahead. _Yes, I’m a Stark, so what? I can still be brave._ Sansa blew the flame out of the shot and quickly slammed it down before she walked toward the stage. She looked over her shoulder at the exit, _It’s not too late; you can still make a run for it!_ However her feet were no longer complying with her brain and she somehow found herself standing next to Margaery.Sansa could feel her hands start to shake and Margaery just laughed and put her arms around her whispering deviously. “Just picture everyone in their underwear!”

Sansa held her microphone tightly, her knuckles turning white. She desperately looked around the crowded bar until her eyes fell upon a giant with steely eyes in the back booth. _Does he wear boxers or briefs? Is he going commando?_ Sansa turned bright red, gulped and decided to sing to him as penance for her sinful thoughts. She heard the music begin to swell and breathed a sigh of relief as the notes to her favorite song, Killing Me Softly, by The Fugees began. She was so happy she happened to know the song Margaery had chosen. Her voice was shaky at first but with each passing note she gained confidence. The stranger in the back only turned around once. After that his steady gaze hadn’t left hers. His calm demeanor became her anchor in the sea of emotions.  

When the song was finished she turned bright red as several men whistled and cat called her. She looked over and saw that Margaery had her mouth open staring at her in surprise. _You didn’t think I could sing did you._ Sansa couldn’t help but smile at her victory. Margaery gave a forced smile and congratulated Sansa before announcing they would now sing a duet. The crowd began hollering loudly as the notes for Somethin’ Bad, by Miranda House Lambert began playing. Sansa just smiled as Margaery dominated the song and bent forward singing to various men in the audience. Leaving no doubt she was bra-less this evening. Sansa of course was more than happy to become the backup singer. She still never took her eyes off of that mysterious man in the back except when some tall guy in the audience called out to her friend, mid-song.

“It’s my name day, love, will you marry me?” Margaery and Sansa laughed, and her friend nodded yes never missing a beat.

When the song finally ended the girls made their way back to the bar. Margaery ordered tequila and Sansa ordered a Lemon Drop. Sansa could feel too many men pushing in around her they were all trying to speak at them at once. Sansa closed her eyes tightly as she felt the beginning of a panic attack coming on. Someone slid her Lemon Drop into her hand, but Sansa just stared at the tallow liquid. She had a bad feeling and she knew she didn’t want to drink it. She had her eyes closed when it was being made. _Stupid, stupid girl!_ However, Margaery just scoffed at her reluctance and rolled her eyes.

“What’s the matter, Sansa? Do you have to call _mommy_ to have fun?” The men around her all snickered at the barb, and Sansa’s eyes narrowed at her drink. _Here goes nothing I guess._ She slammed the drink in one powerful gulp. She licked the lemon flavor off her lips and smiled. Margaery slammed her tequila and ordered another one but Sansa decided to excuse herself to the bathroom.

The room began to spinning as she walked toward the bathrooms. Sansa crashed into a waiter carrying a heavy tray. Sansa yelped as she went tumbling into a booth and onto some stranger's lap. She looked up in surprise at the face of a man who was equally as surprised. _Gods! This is the guy I was singing to! He must think I’m a total idiot._ Now that Sansa was nose to nose with this stranger she took a deep breath, the room was still spinning but for the moment she felt safe. _At least he’s not laughing at me._ She looked up into his eyes concentrating on his face, _or what is left of his face anyway._ This man had been badly burned, half his face was covered in thick twisted scars, his ear was missing and he had some bone visible in his jaw. _I can see his bone? Gods!_ Scars didn’t scare Sansa, not anymore. This man was hug. He had broad shoulders and the biggest muscles she had ever seen. She softly caressed his biceps with her hand and her mouth suddenly went dry. His face was ruined that was undeniable but she could see the beauty in the fact that he was a survivor, _like me._    

She didn’t know how much time had gone by with the two of them lost in each other’s eyes. She was aware that at some point that the two other men in the booth had left. Sansa continued to stare into his endless eyes and marveled that she was even this close to a man. Her head was pounding but she just ran her hand over his arm absentmindedly. _Why did I gulp that Lemon Drop so fast?_  She smiled as she suddenly felt his hand softly rub her back. She closed her eyes for a minute enjoying the tingles his hands made on her skin. Sansa yawned suddenly and realized she was actually very tired. Suddenly Margaery and some random guy came over to their booth. _Wait isn’t that the guy that proposed to her?_ Sansa tried to squint but her head was throbbing and she knew she didn’t care. Margaery surveyed the scene in front of her and raised an eyebrow at Sansa.

“Make sure my friend gets home safe will you? Come on, Bronn. I’ve got a birthday special just for you.” She giggled as he turned bright red and they instantly began making out while simultaneously walking toward the exit. Sansa marveled at all the multi tasking that was taking place in front of her.

Sansa looked at his lap and realized she was _still_ sitting on it. _He probably thinks you’re some kind of wanton woman acting this way! Gods!_ She folded her hands demurely and let out a nervous giggle. “I bet you’re probably wondering what’s a place like this, doing in a girl like me?” _Wait that didn’t sound right, why can’t I speak properly?_

He didn’t really say anything back to her, just kept starring at her his mouth agape, as if she was some ghost sent to haunt his lap. She cleared her throat and tried to stand. He helped her up and she excused herself to go to the bathroom, yawning the whole time. Somehow Sansa made it to the bathroom without embarrassing herself further. She tried to splash cold water onto her face but she was just so tired. She stumbled back out of the bathroom and felt a hand at her elbow helping her up. _People really can be kind!_ Her eyes were getting heavy and she smiled as she was led carefully out of the bar. “Thank you so much,” she told her guardian angel. “I just wanted to go home.”

The cold air that hit her when she left the bar felt like a slap to the face. _Wait who is holding my elbow? I don’t know them!_ She suddenly jerked her arm away forcefully from the mystery hand and spun into a wall. _Wait, walls don’t move._ She had crashed into yet another person. _Gods!_ Sansa rubbed her nose as the person she crashed into suddenly turned around and she was starring once again into a lovely set of familiar eyes. She smiled and cleared her throat.

“Where are you off to grey eyes?” She stumbled a little but he caught her easily. His big hands grasped her steady waist. _We must look like we belong on the cover of those romance novels Arya keeps stashing at my place._  

The mysterious stranger just barked a deep laugh and said plainly. "I’m going home little bird”. _Home? Home? He can’t go home he has muscles and beautiful eyes!_ Sansa tried to think of a way to keep him with her but her brain had stopped working.

“We can look at stars and eat pie.” She gave her biggest smile and cleared her throat before asking him. “Why don’t you come to my place for dessert?” She saw his eyes grow wide and she playfully slapped his arm, _his muscles are huge._ “I have home made lemon meringue pie. It’s my FAVVVVORITE!" Sansa made sure to emphasize the last part so he would know how serious she was.

The world was spinning and Sansa twirled right along with it. She smiled as she danced, _I miss dancing,_ she thought sadly _. He never let me dance, just another dream he killed. He tried to kill you too._ Sansa shook the painful memory away and then sat on the sidewalk. She was shivering so she pulled her knees up under her chin and wrapped her arms around her legs. She felt her eyes slowly begin to droop.

Suddenly Sansa felt warm arms embrace her and gently pick her back up. She sighed and leaned into his warm chest. He pulled her hair away from ear and softly whispered “Let’s get you home little bird.” She shivered as her body coursed with tingles from his breath on her ear. He hailed a cab and she clung on to him for dear life. When he helped her into the cab she caressed his face with the palm of her hands. He reflexively flinched at her sudden touch.

“I flinch too, you know. “ She was starring at him with understanding eyes. “When people touch me, I _usually_ flinch automatically. I don’t like being touched. Not anymore.” She sighed and caressed the burned side of his face. Then she leaned her head onto his shoulder and mumbled, “Has anyone ever told you that you have beautiful eyes? They are the color of the Northern sky.” She nestled further against him, closed her eyes and fell soundly asleep.

Sansa woke up only when her head smacked against a door frame. “Hey watch it!” she growled out rubbing her head. “I thought damsels were supposed to help knights in distress?” _Why was he laughing?_ Her eyes adjusted to the light and she realized she was back home. She smiled as she realized he was carrying her, _like a bride._ “I’m flying.” She squeaked excitedly. Sansa looked around at her lovely apartment. She always loved surrounding herself with beautiful things and her apartment was no exception. She had lovely china sets and small eclectic white furniture. Everything in here was delicate and feminine _except for that hideous couch in the corner. Hotpie just wont let me get rid of it._ She looked over when she realized the man carrying her had stopped moving. She glanced down and saw her giant husky mix looking up at them with her head cocked to the side.  

“Lady, Lady dog” she called out in a singsong voice. “This is, this is,” Sansa paused and realized she had no clue what this mans name was. "This is someone important so don’t eat him. He has lovely eyes.” She knew she had a lazy smile on her lips, and she pointed her slender arm to the hideous couch. "You may place me yonder good sir.” She felt as he quietly laid her down and she couldn’t stifle her yawn. “You smell like a manly man,” she mumbled and once again fell asleep.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All intellectual and artistic property borrowed within this story belong to the original author George R. R. Martin.
> 
> Jennilynn411 and Direwaggle42 are just taking these characters and places for a spin!
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy the ride


	3. Drunken Lullabies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big Ole Thankyou goes out to Fancykid  
> *waves glass of lemonade a la a drunken toast at a wedding* You're tha best Beta a couple kids from the Ao3 block could ask fer! *cue requisite hiccup*
> 
> Remember, we want y'all to have fun with this fic.  
> That being said, not all courses of action that our characters take are the smart ones (see leaving a friend at a bar or leaving a bar with a complete stranger).  
> Jennilynn411 and Direwaggle42 do not encourage behavior that might put any of your lovely lives at risk.  
> Stay safe out there, y'all, and read on!

In the corner of his left eye, somewhere around the mass of metal, dark wood, and white granite that called itself a bar, Sandor thought he caught a flicker of red. Like a storm suddenly sweeping in off one of the western seas, his grandfather’s voice rumbled back to him and was gone in the next breath. _Listen to your gut, boy; sometimes you’ll catch a movement in your periphery and it’ll be nothin’, but someday it’ll be a lion._ Sandor side stepped a gaggle of women three sheets to the wind. A hand reached out, trailed itself down his bare arm, tugging him around, insistent fingers wrapped clammily around his thick wrist.

Eyes like a doe thrust under water, the busty girl gaped up at him. Her hand dropped from his wrist like his face might be catching. Then she turned back into her group, a sloppy cruel little smile slapped across her beer bloated face. Behind him he could make out a squeal so high pitched the dogs in the buggering back alleys were probably rolling in pain, covering their ears with ineffective paws.

“Oh my gods, you so owe me a shot for that!”

What words were to follow, Sandor did not care to find out. He knew where it was going. He knew the tune of this song by heart. Taking slow deep breaths, filling his diaphragm, just as Elder Brother had taught him, Sandor turned aside. He used his considerable bulk to his advantage in moments like this and cut through the crowd. Heat crept up his cheeks as his nose began to throb anew, reminding him that he had nothing to look forward to when he sat down at Bronn’s booth. _Those pricks’ll never let go of this_ , he thought with a sigh as he slid into one of the booths along the side wall of the Serpentine.

The leather looked like a cow had been slaughtered atop it for the benefit of the old gods. It was not as smooth as the milky interior of Bronn’s Duskendale, but it was remarkably cool for the heat of the well-lit bar. Looking to his left, Sandor was relieved to see Bronn’s favorite booth still bore none of the antique mirrors that were hung haphazardly all over the bar. Instead on eye level this booth, as all the booths on this wall, bore pictures of its drunken and _fucking famous_ patrons. The rest of the lads piled into the booth, with Jorah and Bronn encroaching on his carefully cultivated bubble as a slew of beverages began to arrive.

“Didn’t get you a Flaming Wight or a Dornishman’s wife this time, old dog.” The imp smirked, eyes glittering as the flaming shot went down his small gullet.

“Very thoughtful of you, _imp_.” Sandor sneered as he took a sip of the pint now in front of him. A sharp elbow to his ribs was Bronn’s silent chide. Sandor could feel beer dripping down the right side of his jaw below where the burns had scored deepest into the flesh, leaving a small gap where the corner of his lips should have joined, never dealt with by the backwoods healers who first treated him or later the penny pinching state owned maesters of the King’s Landing Foster Care System. It was a small chink but still large enough for his pride and the last shreds of his self-respect to occasionally slip through like so much spilt beer. Jorah was staring up at one of the only televisions in the gleaming array of new money aestheticism. “What’s the score, Teddy?” Sandor grunted in an attempt to play along with Bronn’s wish that they be _one big happy pub crawling family_.

“Steel Dogs were up at the third quarter but the Island Bears just broke through their defense to score another touchdown.” _Mr. Fuckin’ Personal Assistant can’t just raddle off a couple numbers, gotta give a bloody news report on the thing_. “34-35 as of the last play, looking good for the Island Bears though.” Jorah sounded almost enthusiastic about the prospects. Sandor couldn’t blame him. _Good, fuck the Steel Dogs and fuck King’s Landing for making him a gods damned hero._ Pod looked to be studying the game a tad too closely. Panning his eyes around the floor of the bar, Sandor looked up just in time to see a mob cheering and raising glasses as a pair of heads bobbed away through a side door that lead to the upper balcony and the VIP section.

“Pick your jaw off your chest, Pod,” the imp chortled paternally. “The ladies will think you’ve never seen a supermodel before.” Pod quietly nodded, a hand massaging his chin thoughtfully, his eyes looking out across the sea of women with the same eagerness as a mouse baring a bell to a barn cat. “We’ve had more than enough gawking tonight.” _Fucking Tyrion Lannister_ , Sandor bore his teeth at the imp but was met by smiles all around the booth. Somewhere up on the stage a girl was shouting for her friend. Over the drunken den and with a new set of green and orange lights slashing through the air about the stage, it took Sandor a moment to catch sight of which willing victims had set themselves up for the slaughter.

“Look, it’s her!” Bronn bounced in his seat; two shot glasses empty and over turned in front of him, another in his animatedly gesturing hand.

“Every rose has its thorn, Bronn.” Sandor snorted, pushing himself nose deep into his pint and drinking deeply, finding the pair of young women on the stage through the strobes of the Serpentine’s light show. His eyes widened over the rim of his glass as he saw blue coal fire smoldering back at him.

She was already singing, mouth moving to a song he could not yet quite make out, her eyes seeming to stare straight into his own. _She can’t be looking right at you, you daft bastard. No one does that. Not since— not for a long time._ He quickly looked over his left shoulder and found himself face to face with a picture of a drunk Jeor Mormont, lead Guitarist of The Nights Watch, hanging crookedly on the wall. He and Bronn must have looked like a couple of Florians for the fools they were making of themselves as the song finally reached them. Still his eyes were drawn back to her baby blues. His left elbow came to rest with a thump beside his half-forgotten pint glass.

He had seen enough frightened people in his life to know the tics and turns. When the little fire bird first began to sing she had been terrified, maybe on the verge of flying out the double doors of the entrance. Now, his eyes on her like a watch dog, she was beginning to soar, a soft smile playing about her lips and polishing those anxious eyes brighter than the silver fixtures all about the bar. Swaying as she was to the smooth melody of the song, she looked more the Maiden than a bar maid. Two long wings tucked up to her sides now, hands stacked one atop the other, curling around the mic.

 _Her voice is more bleeding beautiful than a bird from the Southern Isles_ he thought wistfully, bringing his pint glass to his lips, focus still locked on the little bird as her voice reached new heights. Beer slipped down his jaw and for once he did not care. She was too far away to see, too far away to really see the mess of his face and too far away to see his dignity dribble down his chin.

The song came to an end, _as all good and beautiful things do in this ugly world,_ Sandor thought, fighting the urge to stand up and holler with the rest of the hooligans flocking the stage. When the little bird stopped singing, he had nearly been out of his seat, pushing Bronn and Jorah on to the brightly bees waxed wood floor. He had checked himself, blood rushing to his good cheek, and sat tight. She was a spectacle to be enjoyed from afar, like a shooting star. He did not want to get burned up on reentering reality from whatever green boy fantasy had momentarily tricked him into thinking that the little bird could _ever_ havebeen looking at him, singing to him. _She probably just chose a spot to stare at and I just happened to pass through it, like a cloud wandering through the night sky during a meteor shower._

Sandor was broken out of his thoughts by hearing a distant voice on the mic announcing a new song. Bronn threw back the second lowball glass of Drogon’s Fire Whiskey that Jorah had been nursing. Sandor met Jorah’s horrified eyes over Bronn’s jittering shoulders. The silly old bear looked like Bronn had just offered to walk him out the Moon Door with a cheerful Vale, “y’all come back now, ya here.”

“Come on, Teddy Bear!” Bronn howled with laughter at his slurred witticism. “My minx is gonna sing a duet!” Jorah stumbled out of the booth to a peel of the imp’s soused laughter. Standing to his full height Jorah was nearly as tall of Bronn, but the man, a glass of whiskey in his belly, did no more to protest being dragged off by the name-day boy than to shoot a sour look back at the remnants of their party.

“Pod, why don’t you finish your drink?” Tyrion nudged the young man’s pint glass towards him with a short pudgy finger. The imp’s miss matched eyes glittered up at Sandor as the taller man leaned back in the booth, mouth a hard line of practiced detachment. Pod slopped a little beer on his front causing the imp to tut-tut. “Ode de Hops and Barley will not help your chances, lad.” Sandor’s focus dashed back down to the pipsqueak and the pup at his side, for a moment certain the imp was talking to him. “Spilt beer will not help your chances one jot, Pod my boy, but luckily you have me at your side.”

Even across a crowded bar and with the new song in full swing, Sandor could swear he heard Bronn shouting about his name-day and maybe a marriage proposal. _That asshole is going to wind up with a black eye or ring on his finger if he keeps that kind of shit up. Actually, knowing Bronn’s track record he’ll get both and fuckin’ like it._ Sandor had to give it to that devil with the red dress on; she knew how to work a crowd. Even singing in the back ground as the minx’s shadow, the little bird had a better set of pipes. Soon enough the duet ended, the minx and bird descending the stage. Sandor could make out the profile of his lanky friend skirting around the mob following the girls. It took only a few moments for the little bird’s red plumage to be lost to his sight. _All good things come to an end._

Swallowing down the last of what had somehow become his second pint; Sandor vaguely listened to the imp’s ridiculous advice. Tyrion _fucking_ Lannister seemed to be eagerly describing to a green gilled Pod some of the best tactics to approaching then chatting up women.

“But of course _I_ am no _Ask the Hound_.” If the imp had as much sense in that big blonde noggin of his as he claimed, he would watch his words. “Really, _she_ is so good about giving advice. Isn’t that right, _Sandy_?” Before Sandor could answer or reach across the table and strangle the imp with a flex of one of his hands, Sandor heard a peep like a biddy being trod upon by a careless boot. He looked up just in time to see a flail of lavender and lily white limbs grace his vision then a pert ass and shivering body fell into his lap.

He tried to turn away from her before she could see the monster she had fallen onto, but he turned to the left, exposing the full extent of his damaged side to her. Tipping his chin up to turn back to the right, he felt his jaw tensing, tendons tightening. In the moment she opened her eyes and realized her mistake, he was a dragon-fly caught in the azure amber of her gaze. He swallowed thickly, knowing with a flush of nausea that her dazed robin’s egg eyes were on level with the worst of it, sure to crack like a mirror at the sight of his ravaged visage.

Somewhere in his periphery the little lion cleared his throat.

“Come along, Pod my boy, tonight you are with a very important person. I believe I saw someone I know go up the Serpentine VIP Stair that would be very interested to meet you.” Pod squeaked out what probably constituted for a ‘me?’, before Tyrion was dragging the lad from the booth. The last look Sandor caught over the little bird’s shivering shoulder was Tyrion flashing a strange smile back at him, _bloody lion that lay with the lamb that one._

A hand gently squeezed his forearm and he dropped his eyes back to the blushing girl sitting pretty as you please in his lap. The swoop of her neckline gave him an enticing view of her flushed chest. He shifted back and she looked about to fall so he lifted his left hand to her mid-back to steady her. The look in her eye was not what he had expected. Shock, yes, but the horror was replaced with something closer akin to confusion. _Little bird looks lost_. She kept pressing and testing the muscles of his arm like maybe she thought he was not real. Like maybe if she caressed him then he would vanish, just a frightful vision from a night of drinking to excess with her rich and beautiful friends. She closed her eyes, _well, little bird, you lasted longer than most of the fuckers that chance a glance at this horror show of a mug._ Moving his hand in small sweeping motions up her thin back, fingers feeling the heat of her skin through the gossamer of her dress, he tried the best he could to tell her without opening his foul mouth that she was safe.

Out in the rest of the bar an off kilter rendition of “Smoke on the Water” by The Boys of Black Water Bay crashed across the crowds like a wave breaking on the beaches around King’s Landing. From out of the throbbing throng, Bronn stepped, a conquering hero with the minx under his arm smirking up at his friend with calculating eyes clouded with lust and maybe a hint of something sweeter. As the minx scanned Sandor, little bird still nested in his lap, her eyes began to gleam.

“Make sure my friend gets home safe, will you?” The minx leaned down and peered at the little bird with a knowing smile on her full lips. “Come on, Bronn, I’ve got a birthday special just for you.” She sang out the final vowels, mouth puckered in a perfect o, a promise of what was to come no doubt. For all his swarthy bravado, Bronn blushed; spinning Margaery away and mouthing to Sandor _I owe you one, man,_ before putting his mouth to better uses. As if the appearance and departure of her friend broke the spell, the little bird went rigid; her hand tightened on his arm, painted nails barely denting his flesh.

“I bet,” she gave a tense little giggle to mask the nerves shimmering in her eyes, “I bet you’re wondering what’s a place like this,” she slurred the s and Sandor wondered how she had gotten herself so tipsy so quickly, “what’s a place like this doing in a girl like me.” The little bird tipped her head to the side, mouth pursed, brows drawn together with the undeniable certainty that something she had said was not quite right.

Without another word, but with help from his hands, the little bird stood and flitted off to the bathroom. _Gone_. Sandor did not wait for her to come back, he knew a girl trying to escape from him with false courtesies, silly mismatched lines, when he saw one. Now she was gone, _flown away, probably to try to beat her pretty wings against the glass of the bathroom window_. With a look at the red head behind the bar as he passed across the open floor, ignoring the shocked twitters of a few blotto bimbos and their blokes, he tipped his chin up. Silently he asked _am I good to go?_ She’d seen him before, always with Bronn, usually with Tyrion. She nodded briefly, eyes sharp; the tab had probably been covered by the imp.

 

Outside, the cool night air whispered about him. _Winter is coming_ , the old police chief used to say that. The Lannister limo pulled up, purring as, to Sandor’s shock, the pup Podrick swaggered from the Serpentine to usher a couple of leggy broads into the back seat. _What in all the fucking seven hells is that about?_ Grinding the ball of his foot against the pavement he could hear glass crunching beneath his heavy boot, the imp was nowhere to be seen but the limo sped away all the same. _I should have said something to her, anything,_ he growled internally. Elder Brother was always telling him to use his _fucking_ words. Kicking his foot out with a snarl, he sent a skittering of butts into the gutter. He took a step towards the curb, when a warm lithe body crashed into him. Heads below him, Sandor heard someone clear her throat.

“Where are you off to, grey eyes?” The little bird asked, staggering back. He reached his hands out to steady her and he could not help the harsh laugh that tore from his lips. The corners of his mouth curled, jerked higher on the right in an unintentional leer.

“I’m going home, little bird,” he grated out as clearly as he could. Sadness seeped into her features, paling her liquor inflamed flesh. She stood there as if she were looking at him through the bottoms of two bottles of Dornish red, trying to balance a third on her pretty little head. She mumbled something; a few words, stars and pies, caught his attention but it was not until she took a deep breath that he could really understand her.

“Why don’ you come to my place for dessert?” He looked at her more closely uncertain if he had heard her right. Her hand brushed against his arm again and he shifted his body slightly away, looking around for the hidden cameras and the architects of this jape. _Is she inviting me back to her place?_ Alarm bells rung loudly in his ears. _Shit._ She was _really_ drunk. _More out of it than I thought_. She was so drunk she could not even see his face properly, so drunk she might go home with a perfect stranger, a man who could easily do her harm. She was so drunk she would not be able to even draw her perfectly manicured talons to defend herself. In a sing song lark of a voice she swooped in, “I have homemade lemon meringue pie.” Then she chirped by way of explanation, “It’s my favorite.”

Her smile was meant for someone else. That was clear to Sandor as he watched the little bird tilt her head and move in twirls to music she alone could hear. Graceful as a little dove, she dropped to the curb, her white ballet flats were grey with ash now, and scattered around her shaking form were the bits and pieces, sparkling shards and dull splatters, of other people’s burnt out lives.

He did the only thing he could think to do, he scooped her up as best he could, to stand her on her own two feet. Hailing a cab was easy for him, he stood two heads above most and his scowl generally kept the fuckers who might want to try to scam him at bay. Scooting her into the cab he hunted around for an address in the clutch she carried.

His large fingers pushed aside a can of mace and lingered only briefly on her set of keys which bore a strange key chain almost like a set of brass knuckles.

“Where to, buddy?” Sandor flashed a hard expression and the cabby raised his dark brows on his dark face, then squinted back at the girl bubbling in the back seat. He asked no questions though and at last Sandor found a slip of paper with an address on it. _Tower of the Hand Apartments, apartment 424, must be hers_.

“The Tower of the Hand apartments,” he growled out. He started as fingers grazed over his cheeks. The marred side was muted to the touch, the pressure all he could really feel, not the heat or the way she lingered by the place where his ear should have been. Damn his eyes but he pulled away sharply at her touch. _No one’s ever, not since…_ the thought trailed off before it started because he heard her murmuring with sadness in her every syllable.

“I flinch too,” she mumbled her words more garbled than before. Her hands were still on his face, but she held him now like she might fall off the edge of the world if she did not. “When people touch me,” she continued and he was afraid where this rabbit hole lead. “I _usually_ flinch,” her next few words were lost in her slurring and her suddenly down turned face. “I don’t like being touched. Not anymore.” His heart stopped. _I touched her earlier, on the back._ He had scared her, he knew he had. Tipping forward with the rocking of the cab, her forehead met his chest and he held his breath. “Has any one ever told you,” she said half to herself, “that you have beautiful eyes?” He would have laughed at that on any other night, but he would not take the piss out of this little bird. “Eyes, eyes the color of the Northern sky,” she sang to herself. And it became a lullaby that, as she slumped against the stained cloth of the cab’s seat, put her straight to sleep.

 

It was partway up the stairs to her apartment that she woke.

“I’m flying,” she peeled with lemony laughter, sweet and sour to his ears.

Then she woke again as he misjudged exactly how tall she was and how _gods damned narrow her apartment’s fucking door was_.

“Hey, watch it,” she slurred sleepily, eyes wide and hazy from her misspent evening. “I thought, I thought,” she reasoned out with a huff, “damsels were s’pose to help knights in distress.”

For the first time in the evening he let himself give a proper belly chuckle at her silly chiasmic musings. Her legs gave a small kick, the knees bunching up over his strong forearm. She was not struggling to get down; instead she seemed to think she was flying again. He did not turn any of the lights on, but there was a lace covered side table lamp still burning and a string of glittering twinkle lights swirling their way up a small column springing from an island jutting into what must be her living room from her kitchen. As he surveyed the room, hoping to find a comfortable place to set the little bird now nestled into his chest, he noticed the furniture only looked fit for a little bird to perch upon.

From around the kitchen island slunk a large dog. Looking like more wolf than husky, the dog tipped its head to the side in a perfect imitation of its mistress. Sandor’s breathing became shallow pants.

“Lady, Lady dog.” The little bird cooed to the silver furred beast. “This is, this is,” she trailed off for a moment and snapped back as if remembering she was in the middle of a thought. “This is some one important.” The dog raised its lip a fraction, waiting to decide whether a snarl or a smile was in order. “So don’t eat him,” she giggled again and murmured like the dog was her confidante, “he has lovely eyes.” Her smile was slow like gin and lazy like a summer afternoon.“You may place me yonder, good sir.” She stretched one of her long arms and pointed with a twist of her wrist and a flourish of her index finger at a soft tan couch hidden on the far side of the room. With as much care as he could muster, he set her down. Whether speaking to the couch or to him, he did not know, but she murmured into the blue and white striped pillow case, “You smell like a manly man.” Tiny adorable snores informed Sandor that she was once again fast asleep.

Pulling the tope blanket off the back of the squishy couch, Sandor draped it over her. He had tried to touch her as little as possible during the cab ride. _It’s not your place to put your bloody paws on her._ Carrying her up the stairs turned out to have been the only option though when the cab pulled away. Stepping away from the couch and past a wagging _Lady_ , he began to scour through her cabinets. Pushing past the crystal stemware, the seven _princess_ coffee mugs, he finally found a plain hard plastic glass. Filling it with water, Sandor picked up a tiny purple trashcan by the island and walked back to the little bird’s side. Kneeling by her he set the water on a side table with a lace doily as a coaster and set the bin on the floor near her head. _Might be needin’ that come morning, little light weight._

Standing up, Sandor felt his stomach lurch and a rough growl snarl from his belly. Looking over to _Lady_ , she narrowed her icy eyes then nudged a squeaky toy towards him. Reaching out his hand, knuckles braced for the snap of her strong jaws, he was pleasantly surprised to find a soft tongue slip across his scarred skin. Letting his fingers trail over her head, Sandor walked past her and found himself back in the kitchen. Staring at the fridge, Sandor’s stomach gurgled. _Shouldn’t have skipped dinner_. Peering at the fridge, Sandor ran a finger over a hand written note on a daily calendar: _Hey, San, Going over to Myc’s. Leftovers in fridge if you get the munchies ;) saw that pie you made looks perfect! So proud of you, my lemoncake protégé! Be back late- Hotpie_

 _What the fuck is a Hotpie_?

Sandor looked about the apartment from the kitchen. There was hardly any evidence that a man might live here or that the little bird had a roommate. All the same the gnawing guilt about leaving her in an unlocked apartment receded slightly with the knowledge she would surely not be alone for long. Sandor read the note again and shook his head.

 _So the little bird was serious about that lemon meringue pie of hers_. With a quick glance about the place and finding only Lady’s curious eyes, he pulled the fridge open with a pop. _What could it hurt, a bite or two, just to see me home_. Reaching into the stark buzzing light of the refrigerator, he quickly pulled the pie out and set it on the island. Mouth watering he drew the saran wrap away from the fluffy meringue. _Seven hells, this looks fit for the fucking gods not a mongrel like me._ He grabbed a spoon from a tin cup. Before he could second guess himself, he was stabbing the whipped concoction and shoving it in his mouth. A second spoonful was halfway to his open mouth when he heard a key turn uselessly in the lock, the handle of the front door jiggle, and a shallow cautious gasp.

“Sansa?” A man’s voice called softly. Then a bit louder, “Sansa, lemoncake, I’m home. Are you? Hello?” Before Sandor could move a muscle or say a word he was face to face with a Hotpie. “Who in the sweet name of the Smith are you, mate?"


	4. Every Breath You Take

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We know you guys had many questions about what was in that lemon drop. Well, ask and ye shall receive!

You pace angrily around your plush apartment, swearing and screaming her name. You pick up your vintage bottle of Dornish Sour Red and smash it against the marbled fireplace. It shatters and you gaze over as the red liquor slowly drips down the wall and onto the white carpet. It puddles like blood at _your_ feet. The fire is roaring and the flames dance among the logs, the flames remind you of her hair. How you wish you could snake your fingers through her hair now. You scream her name again and clutch the dragonfly tightly in your palm; you are clutching it tightly and smile as the dragonfly bites into your flesh. Your hand is bleeding now but you don’t care. You _never_ care. All that matters is Sansa is _your_ soul mate.

 

_She belongs to you._

 

You were sitting in the bar when she came floating in. _She_ was the goddess made flesh, wearing that beautiful lavender gown. Lavender was your favorite color; she knew that, she is wearing that dress for _you_. You don’t approach at first; her swaying hips have entranced you. You feel yourself harden as you picture just what those hips could be capable of. She sat at the bar with her friend and slammed a flaming shot of something. You are _angry_ with her. Shots are for _whores;_ she is no _whore_. She should only be drinking Tyroshi Pear Brandy, not that _swill_. This must be her friends’ influence. All that matters is Sansa is _your_ soul mate

           

_She belongs to you_ **.**

           

You were slowly making your way toward her when her _friend_ called her up on stage. You could hear the crowd muttering about that cursed _Stark_ name and you wanted to _kill_ them all. How dare _they_ insult her in _your_ presence? It didn’t matter; she was going home with _you_ not _them_. She began singing that love song of hers to _you_. She was professing _her_ love and you _desperately_ wanted to take yourself in hand while she did it. The notes penetrated _your_ very being and you were already planning on returning the _favor_. The crowd cheered her on, as you knew they would. Her _friend_ announced a duet and then shoved _your_ goddess to the back. You didn’t know who this _whore_ was in the red dress but she would pay _dearly_ for this insult. All that matters is Sansa is y _our_ soul mate

           

_She belongs to you._

           

At the end of the song the girls made their way back toward the bar, back toward _you_. You of course were ready for them. The pill was already crushed and you easily slipped it into her Lemon Drop while she was distracted. _She really should be paying more attention. You never know what kind of creeps are hanging out in a bar._ She surprised you with how quickly she slammed her drink. She excused herself from the crowd of leering men and made her way to the bathroom. You waited; after all you needed the pill to be in full effect before you made _your_ move. You watched in _despair_ as she stumbled and fell onto the lap of _Sandor Clegane_. You felt your mouth go dry and you continued to watch this most unexpected scene. All that matters is Sansa is _your_ soul mate

           

_She belongs to you._

 

You rise to go rescue _your_ goddess from the clutches of that _monster_. She would be so grateful to _you_. You are her _knight_ in shining armor and she is your _lady_. You start to laugh and sit back down as you see her close her eyes. She couldn’t even stand to look at his _ugly_ face. You order another round and continue to watch as her friends’ come and go. You watch her as she finally stumbles away from his ogre hands. You are _waiting_ for her when she stumbles out of the bathroom. You gently grab her slender elbow to steady her. You notice that her _necklace_ has become unclasped and you pocket it quickly once it hits the floor. She looks so _tired_ and you can’t help but _smile_ at her beauty. She smelled like heaven and you could feel yourself harden once again. All that matters is Sansa is _your_ soul mate.

 

  _She belongs to you._

 

She is so grateful to _you_ ; she even thanks _you_ and invites _you_ home. You guide her carefully through the crowd and toward the exit. You will take _your_ goddess home and watch over her all night. You will stroke her hair, breathing in her scent as you take yourself in hand. _You_ will take care to ensure _she_ does not _awaken_. She will be safe tonight under _your_ watchful care. You wont _defile_ her that is not what tonight is about. In the morning when you tell her she was drugged she will be so _thankful_ you saved her. She will be so _grateful_. You are still _smiling_ as you make it outside. Everything is going so well. All that matters is Sansa is _your_ soul mate.

            

_She belongs to you._

 

Something goes wrong when you are outside. She trips and runs once again into _Sandor Fucking Clegane_. You easily fade into the background anxiously waiting to see what happens next. She dances for you twirling her skirt, _teasing you_ with her beautiful long legs, she sits down suddenly and looks so lost and sad. _You_ want to walk over to her and wrap _your_ arms around her. _Sandor_ makes it to her first, he gathers her up and loads her into a waiting taxi. You are fearful about the horrors he will inflict upon her but he is not Gregor, after all. If you find out later _Sandor_ touched _your_ goddess, you _will_ kill him _slowly_. All that matters is Sansa is _your_ soul mate.

 

_She belongs to you._

 

You notice now that the dragonfly has made a gash in _your_ palm and _you_ lick the blood off your hand. You savor the moment and her memory and then you _smile_. You pick up your phone and call the number. You order a red head for the evening, but you specify that she _must_ be a natural red head. The last girl they sent you was such a _disappointment_. It had been expensive to clean up but they now knew better than to make that mistake again. They would never dream of disappointing _you_ again. You sit in your chair and wait for the girl to arrive, still stroking the dragonfly. All that matters is Sansa is _your_ soul mate.

 

_She belongs to you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's chapter was inspired by Every Breath You Take by the police.  
> Have ya'll ever really listened to the lyrics?!?!  
> We are sorry if this chapter has scared the living lemons out of you.  
> Feel free to spray down your computer and smart phones with holy water.  
> We know we did!


	5. Short Skirt Long Jacket

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *kicks cowboy boots up on small wrought iron cafe table*  
> Hope everyone stateside enjoys the fireworks tonight or had a good time watching them go Boom-Sparkle last night  
> *raises coffee cup with a dash of Irish cream*  
> And to those not in the US of A, enjoy your regularly scheduled Saturday programming.

Sandor rubbed at his right eye with the heel of his hand. He slept better last night that the night before. Still, he was haunted by dreams of carrying an armful of pale limbed fire, whose smoke smelt of lavender and lemons and whose eyes smoldered with a slew of liquor laced emotions. _None of which were meant for you_. A week had passed and even as he jogged down the concrete steps of his apartment to the street, Sandor could not shake the feeling of gentle flames licking his forearms with the brush of her auburn plumage.

Somewhere in the new morning mist rising from the pavement and the ever present layer of smog slung low over the Street of Steel District, Sandor heard the familiar wheeze of one of the Baratheon Brothers Stags. From the motto ‘Nothing Runs Like A Stag’ emblazoned along the black stripe that pinned its way down the yellow flank of the bus to the golden buck that seemed to be perpetually caught in a race with the lumbering automotive it was painted upon, Sandor knew the Red Line better than most in King’s Landing. Unlike the _shitty_ King’s Road Subway, he had never run into a prying eye on the buses. The Red Line ran from the Red Keep District, downtown, to all the major boroughs of King’s Landing, including the Street of Steel District.

Out of the quickly dissipating fog, the early bird bus pulled up with a groan.

Sandor stood stock still as the Stag’s doors hissed open. Where there had once been a stark black line on the mustard coated hide of the oversized tin can, now the silhouette of the golden buck was being chased by a stream of fire.

“Hey, buddy, ya gettin’ on or am I just lettin’ the lovely Valyrian air in for nothin’?” The Stag driver called with a Fleabottom brogue.

Sandor shook his head and mounted the steps, ducking to pass into the Stag’s grungy corrugated metal interior. _At least there are no flames in here_ , Sandor thought with a shudder. _Who in the seven hells decided that was a good idea_. Glancing up, Sandor saw pictures of _Stannis bloody Baratheon_ plastered across the ceiling, _of course_.

Sitting his ass down, Sandor leaned against the cool dewy glass of the window on his left then leaned back into the grubby seat. Soon enough the bus heaved itself up and back into motion. The fire flickering on the side of the Stag gnawed at his gut and nibbled at his mind. There was only one other fire to which he had recently let himself get this close. _The Little Bird. Sansa_ , Sandor corrected himself. _She probably doesn’t remember a blurry eyed jot from that night._ But he remembered ever blessed and gory detail.

 

He remembered thinking, _so this is a fucking Hotpie_.

Then the significance of the plump lad’s words sunk in.

“Who in the sweet name of the Smith are you, mate?” The lad looked a few years younger than the little bird and probably the better part of a decade younger than himself. Wide chocolatey eyes dashed about his person as Sandor lowered the spoon to the white tile island top. _Caught in the bleeding act like a child with his hand stuffed into the cookie jar_ , Sandor cursed, drawing on memories of the sitcom families he and Dany had grown up making fun of in the group homes. _Cue the cheesy laugh track already, gods; this is gonna be comedy gold._ “I, I said, who are you? What are you doing in, in this apartment? Who in the Smith are you?!” The pudgy young man jutted his first chin out in an attempt at a belligerent gesture. Though _Hotpie’s_ eyes darted away from Sandor’s face every time the lad chanced a look, the young man was making an effort to at least keep the towering intruder within his line of sight.

“I’m not-,” Sandor began but _Hotpie_ had turned his head to quickly scan the apartment and now the lad was rushing over to where the little bird lay snoring.

“What did you do to her?!” Hotpie rounded on him and Sandor couldn’t help the harsh bark of a laugh that flew from his cracked lips. Lady jumped up at the sound and looked around, hackles and lip raised, prepared to rend and tear apart her unknown enemy. Hotpie looked almost as frazzled but only a sixtieth as intimidating.

“Don’t get your fur ruffled, _Lady_.” Sandor stepped out of the kitchen and knelt before the uneasy dog. Lady hesitantly dropped her head and stepped into the open hand waiting for her, letting Sandor smooth her silver coat flat then tickle the base of her spine with a few scratches. Looking up at Hotpie, he could nearly see the cogs spinning in the lad’s round head. “I didn’t harm a hair on the pretty little bird’s head, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Sandor growled out after a few moments of furrowed brow jaw clenched silence.

“Little Bird,” Hotpie mused, eyes shifting from the crouching man by Lady to the snoring girl on the couch. “ _Sansa_ ,” Hotpie emphasized the name, “doesn’t usually drink herself into a stupor.” Sandor snorted, standing up and letting his long back crack with an extra stretch. “She _never_ brings anyone home, either. She wouldn’t bring someone like—she wouldn’t bring anyone home.” Bringing his hand up to his face, massaging the bridge of his nose, Sandor waited for the inevitable accusations. “ _You_ brought her back though.” It was a slightly less than a statement, a smidgeon more than a question, and the unspoken words were a buzz compared to the assault Sandor had expected.

“I did,” he replied as he uncovered his face. Hotpie had taken a small nervous step towards him, eyes hovering around where Sandor’s heart was beating. _Can’t look me in the eye, can you, boy?_ “She was pretty out of it at the Serpentine.” He added in a gruff attempt to diffuse the growing tension, “I was told there would be pie.” Hotpie’s eyes crinkled, squinting past Sandor at the island where the remnants of the lemon meringue pie stood as evidence. Disbelief washed Hotpie’s cherubic face a whiter shade of pale.

“ _You_ ,” Hotpie spat out with a shake of his head, looking at Sandor as if the giant with the horror show of a face could not possibly have such rosy tinted intentions, “ _you_ brought _Sansa_ back for a _pie_.” The pudgy lad was shuffling forward in a show of idiotic bravery, invading Sandor’s personal space inch by flabby inch.

“No.” Sandor growled with a huff, leaning forward so he was on level with the lad that looked like a solid fourth of his body might be made up of meringue. “I brought her back to her little lace doily littered cage for the _promise_ of a _godsdamned pie_.” Sandor had straightened up to his full height and dared the chubby pip squeak to laugh at him or worse call him a liar. _I dare you, I triple dog dare you_. “Where were _you_ , _Hotpie_?” Sandor snarled, returning to the kitchen island and beginning to cover up the lemon meringue pie, large hands working with surprising dexterity given the way his shoulders were shaking and the burnt side of his maw was twitching _. Keep your hands busy and it is harder to lash out with them_ , the Elder Brother’s words whispered in his ear. “The _little bird_ was left alone in that godsdamned viper pit of a bar.” Sandor was closer to the door now, trying to take slow deep breaths. “I was there. Where the fuck were you?”

It was not until he was storming past the second floor landing door that Sandor had looked down and realized that between his fisted paws rested the lemon meringue pie. He knew he could not go slinking back, tail between his legs, to deliver the pie to the little bird’s rightfully concerned boyfriend. Instead he loped down the stairs, fleeing the scene and making his way back to his loft. Sandor hoped perhaps he might be able to leave the memories of the night behind him with the slamming of the little bird’s apartment door and the sour sweet tang of the pie but he had not.

 

A bump in the road brought his forehead into abrupt contact with the bus window. Like clockwork, the bus always jerked and jumped at the same spots on the road to the Red Keep District. The potholes on Trident Avenue marked the small doctor’s office more in Sandor’s mind than the tastefully discrete street level sign that read ‘The Quiet Isle Clinic.’

Another couple city blocks and the bus pulled up to the first stop in the Red Keep District. Two more stops later and Sandor stood from his seat, dipping his head as he exited the bus. The Building of The High Sparrow was just a big mirrored mother of dragons fucking monstrosity as far as Sandor was concerned. The fourth floor held his office though, his slice of pie, his fiefdom in all of Stars Over Essos. Bypassing the elevators that forced him to stand breast to back with tailored suited Florians and pencil skirted Jonquils who could not look him in the eye, Sandor made a bee line for the stairs.

In the corner of his right eye a flash of scarlet flitted through his periphery like the ghostly hum of a half forgotten song. Lowering his gaze to the black and white patterned floors, Sandor concentrated on the hard solid sound of his black boots on the tile. Each stride brought him that much closer to the comforting isolation of his office and away from the meaningless chit and chatter of the SOE staff and the glimpses of red headed women who now plagued his vision. The stairs met him as cheerfully as any of his bloody coworkers as one floor and another was quietly passed by.

With an exhale of breath he had not known he had been holding, Sandor reached the third floor landing with its brass plaque proclaiming Third Floor: Human Resources, Mail Room, and File and Copy Room. Bounding up the last steps, Sandor breached the fourth floor door to almost trip over the imp and Jorah. Before he could move past the two, the imp was waving his stubby fingered hands with a flourish.

“What happened to you, Mormont?” The imp looked torn between genuine concern and wanting to laugh his tiny toady ass off.

“Angry Lady Clara happened to me!” Jorah was as close to being exasperated as Sandor had ever seen the old bear. “I don’t even know what I did to her.”

“Mrs. Clara has always been extremely kind to me.” The imp sang, flicking a nonexistent speck of dust off his immaculately tailored suit jacket.

“Well, we can’t all flirt our ways into the good graces of the head of Human Resources,” Jorah snarked back. Turning as he did, the silly old bear spotted Sandor. _Sevenhells, save me from watercooler talk._ The imp raised an eyebrow at Sandor, looking at him like they were sharing a silent joke but only one knew the punchline. _Or maybe one of us is the punchline_ , Sandor considered sullenly.

“I am sure, _Clegane_ , would agree that it is simply that I am far more charming than you.” Sandor was certain if his eyes were to roll any harder in his head, they would pop out, and he would have to stoop and chase them down the hall. “Well, tell us. What did you do this time, Mormont?”

“I might have,” Jorah grimaced as if his pint sized coworker was his executioner. “I might have asked if she need a larger chair to accommodate her,” and now Jorah winced, “growing girth.” Sandor gave a harsh bark that pull the right side of his face taut and made a few secretaries look up nervously. The imp was doubled over, tears streaming from his mismatched eyes.

“Let me get this right, _Teddy_ ,” Jorah began to protest muttering _don’t call me that at work_ , “so, so you called the _pregnant_ head of HR fat?!” The imp howled with laughter. “Better fix this situation before it gets back to the Dragon.” Prickles of annoyance danced across Sandor’s skin at the moniker for Dany. Cracking his neck and taking a deep breath, Sandor brusquely waved one big hand as he rolled his eyes again and prepared to make his escape. Jorah raised his chin and gave a distracted wave as his focus moved back to the imp.

“What should I do?” Sandor heard Jorah ask Tyrion as he walked away. The last thing that made it to him as he rounded the corner to cross the floor to his office was Tyrion rattling off a list of foods that Mrs. Clara had been craving of late. The top of the list seemed to be chocolate drizzled chicken, lemon sorbet, and watermelon pickles. _Each to their own,_ he supposed as a shudder skipped down his spine at the thought of ruining a perfectly good roast chicken with some stupid Volantis imported chocolate sauce.

 

Settling into his desk and in the rhythm of his work, Sandor clicked his email up and began sifting through the myriad of “Ask the Hound” write-ins. Many of the SOE subscribers still wrote with pen and ink to send their questions and problems to the mysterious Hound, but Dany had insisted a year ago that they begin to branch out, welcome the rising technology from the Free Cities, and insure that her company was not left buried beneath the shifting sands of time like so many hoof prints in the Dothraki Sea. _This is how Drogo would have wanted it_ , Danny had murmured months ago but not for the first or last time. As with any mention of the man Dany met right out of high school, Sandor did not press for details. Instead he agreed to let the IT department set him up an email for “Ask the Hound,” and that was the end of the discussion.

There were a handful of fairly promising looking subject lines from two or three of the SOE subscribers but before he could open any a sharp rap at his door stole his attention. Beneath heavy brows, Sandor glared into the empty air of his open door. With a frown and a confused twitch, he dropped his gaze.

 _The imp_.

A growl was fermenting at the back of his throat as he raised his good eyebrow expectantly. Sandor waited silently for Tyrion _fucking_ Lannister to explain why he had deigned to walk his _rose tanned_ _wingtip Wendishes_ over to Sandor’s purposefully out of the way corner office. Right as Sandor began to straighten up in his wide desk chair and prepared to open his mouth to snap out _what the fuck do you want_ , the imp flashed a smile.

“Good morning, Clegane.” Tyrion purred. Waddling a few feet into the small office, the imp scooted himself up into the only unoccupied chair. “Haven’t seen you much since Bronn’s nameday soiree at the Serpentine,” the imp flipped a few bangs of golden hair off his tall forehead. “A little bird told me you left with someone.” _Little Bird_ , Sandor’s mouth felt drier than the Red Waste.

“You sound like Varys.” Sandor choked out, covering with a rough cough. “You’ve been spending too much time with the Spider, _Lannister_.” Sandor picked up a few pieces of paper off his desk, looking at the words with an air of concentration _. Little Bird is a common enough phrase_ , he doggedly reasoned out. _Besides, what could the little bird mean to the imp? Nothing, that’s what._ Taking a slow deep breath, Sandor glided over the imp and turned his attention to typing gibberish on his computer. The imp took to these subtle hints like a bull to a crimson cape and plowed right ahead.

“I did not peg you for a ladies man is all, Clegane.” Sandor’s hackles began to rise with the twitching of his lip. “But I also never dreamed I would see Podrick Payne walk out of the Serpentine with not one but _two_ of SOE’s models.” Tyrion ruefully looked to the ceiling tiles, a paternal smile playing around his lips. “You do get all those fan letters for the Hound; _she_ is quite popular with the ladies, isn’t _she_?” Since the imp was the chief architect behind the media and the general public believing the Hound to be a woman, Sandor was not surprised the little man might gloat about it. _The imp would pat himself on the back if he could only reach it_. “I suppose every dog must have his day.” Before the imp could take this heart to heart any further, Sandor abruptly pushed back his chair to stand behind his desk. The imp looked up at him all wide innocent eyes and concerned brows.

“I gotta go get,” Sandor grasped at straws and finally at an empty folder for his newest batch of “Ask the Hound” hard copy write-ins, “ _all those fan letters for the_ _Hound_ from the mail room.” Filling up his office door, he looked back and down at Tyrion. Once again the imp looked like he and Sandor were sharing a joke. But now Sandor knew that the imp was keeping the punchline close to his impeccably tailored vest. “Feel free ta, ya know,” he sought for something more polite to say than ‘go fuck yourself with one of your fancy shoes’ and found himself speechlessly shrugging his shoulders instead. In an abrupt about face, Sandor abandoned his office for the solitude of the stairway and the temporary reprieve of the mail room, the imp’s chortling nipping at his heels.

 

Theon Greyjoy nearly leapt out of his sallow skin when Sandor padded into the lean lad’s third floor domain. The scruffy assistant mail clerk looked up Sandor’s tall frame, letting his jaw swing open and closed like a fish, reminding Sandor that he usually had his mail delivered when he was out of the office just so he could avoid these sorts of interactions. With a twitch of his lips that constituted a ‘hey,’ Sandor brushed past Theon to crouch before his mail box. A purple envelop jumped eagerly into his hand, followed by five more ecru ones.

“That was this morning’s batch, but I’m sure you’ll have more by the afternoon.” Theon gulped. A door away and just down the hall, the industrial copy machines began to swish and thrum with the dependability of a metronome, marking the monotonous minutes with an ink stained hand.

Sandor grunted noncommittally, thumbing through the letters. The purple one was certainly the fattest and the most familiar. He leaned down to sniff the envelope _,_ yes, as he suspected, it was scented: like citrus with a harder edge, something akin to crushed wolfs bane. Theon was darting here and there around the narrow mail room, the blood red tie about his neck bobbing in Sandor’s periphery.

Both men started as a woman’s wail briefly pierced the air.

Before Theon could move a step towards the door, Sandor bolted, letters and folder stuffed into the back pocket of his grey slacks. When he reached the file and copy room door, a small paper sign taped to the glass reading ‘SOE Dungeons, Here There Be Dragons,’ Sandor did not hesitate to throw it open. Before him a strange scene unfolded, more befitting a comedy of manners than the drab office slice of life flick into which they had all clearly been thrust. Lommy, whose hands were _no fucking surprise here_ covered in green toner, appeared to be wrestling with one of the metallic beasts that were meant to be under his charge as an in-house handyman. Behind him, Ramsay Snow was looking down at the floor with a sick smile stretching his thin lips and something alarmingly close to arousal sparkling in his dead fish eyes. Sandor’s own eyes blinked rapidly, mind reeling, trying desperately to focus on a young woman kissed by fire who was now struggling to stand, her peasant skirted plumage caught in the inner workings of Lommy’s unruly brute.

 _Little Bird_.

Heart hammering in his chest Sandor watched Ramsay Snow’s lip curl up, a wriggling worm revealing a set of enamel hooks. _Could it be her?_ With grasping fingers, Ramsay slipped behind the bowed young woman. Head bent towards the floor, her hands were fluttering like starlings around the edge of her long skirt, tugging at the material to no avail. Sandor felt his mouth clenching to snarl the word ‘stop’ as Ramsay’s hands found purchase on the lass’s delicate waist.

Shrieking like a field mouse in a shrike’s clutches, the little bird flew forward.

Her mouth formed the words, “Don’t touch me,” but the cry died on her lips, punctuated by the rending of fabric. It was as loud and as quiet as if time itself had been torn asunder to stand still in those few, breathless, moments. A growl was snatched from his throat as she hit his chest hard. She might have bounced off but her arms snaked around his neck before he could so much as step aside.

Blue like the Black Water Bay after a summer storm stared up at him. The blue skipped up his features, over his chin, his knit brow, to slide down the ruined side of his face like a waterfall. Just a twinge of a flinch momentarily marred her lovely features. She mouthed _Grey Eyes_. Or maybe Sandor just wanted her lips to form those words. Turning her face away, the little bird buried her beak into his shoulder. He thought he could feel her heart beating desperately against her ribs, a lovely little sparrow battering itself against the cold bars of a cage. He knew his own heart was pounding within the cavern of his chest, loud in the ear that was there and the one that was not.

Plucked like so many tail feathers, the remnants of all but the top tiers of her charcoal and lilac skirt lay streaked across the linoleum floor. Ramsay’s fingers lingered over the material, eyes darting up to the young woman’s creamy bare legs. Sandor let his eyes follow Ramsay’s for a heartbeat and saw a few pink scars slashed across her lower thigh to be hidden beneath the surviving tiers of her skirt and the bunched up knee length snow white slip. _Who tried to clip your wings, Little Bird?_

“It’s okay,” she was murmuring in barely a whisper to herself, “you won’t hurt me.” She was shaking, goosebumps rising and her teeth chattering as she continued her mumbled mantra. “You won’t hurt me. You won’t hurt me.”

“No, I won’t hurt you.” Sandor began to rumble back in answer to a question she never uttered, but she turned her head away at the sound of the machine roaring into life to devour and then spit out the scraps of her skirt.

Hanging off him as she was, he had braced on arm against her lower back on reflex, but the other flexed uselessly behind her, fingertips longing to trace comforting patterns into her skin. Even as tall as she was, a willow bent against a half burnt and gnarled weir wood tree, her feet were probably not touching the floor. Her face was firmly pressed into the white cotton of his button down, her breathing ragged. The one paw hovered over her back, not quite brushing her fear washed flesh. _She said she didn’t like to be touched, not anymore._ Her breathing was beginning to regulate as Lommy was spewing a stream of apologies and Ramsay discreetly pocketed the shredded bottom tier of Sansa’s skirt. Sandor thought with an ache in his gut, _once she gets her wits about her and gives you a proper look over she’ll be wishing to the seven that she was in the arms of Ramsay ‘I drown pups for fun’ Snow instead._

Ramsay cleared his throat and the little bird blushed, heat and blood returning to her ashen cheeks, slowly cracked her robin’s eggs, regarding the ugly mug and the steely eyes boring down at her. Shutting her eyes again to the sight of him under the fluorescent lights, the little bird bit her lip, swallowed hard, and relaxed her grip around his neck. Feeling the young woman slide down his body a few inches to touch her flats to the ground, Sandor hated himself for loving the way her warmth was pressed flush against him in that moment. Shrugging her thin shoulders like she might be able to shake off the feel of Ramsay’s hands or more likely the sight of Sandor, Sansa brought her shaking arms away from his broad body to wrap protectively around her own.

A man cleared his throat in the file room doorway.

“Miss Stark,” _Little Fucker’s_ voice poisoned the air, “are you quite alright, Miss Stark?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All intellectual and artistic property borrowed within this story belong to the original author George R. R. Martin.
> 
> Jennilynn411 and Direwaggle42 are just taking these characters and places for a spin like a mint condition late 60s Boss 429 Mustang on a blue highway.
> 
> *leans forward and fiddles with the radio until the opening chords of Simon and Garfunkel's "America" emerge from the static*
> 
> Alright, y'all, hope you enjoy the ride.


	6. The Boys Are Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All intellectual and artistic property borrowed within this story belongs to the original author George R. R. Martin.
> 
> Jennilynn411 and Direwaggle42 are just taking these characters and places for a spin, like a '78 Maverick with a full tank on a dusty byway before the '79 oil crisis.

Sansa awoke with tears in her eyes. She had been dreaming of a pair of grey eyes and muscles. They were dancing. _He was a beautiful dancer, but he was fading away, and she was alone again._ She shook her head and wiped her eyes off on the sleeve of her fuzzy pink flannel pajamas. She sat up slowly in her queen sized four-poster bed and gazed about her room. She smiled slowly as she realized that she failed to notice how her entire room looked like it was plucked right out of fairy tale. She always felt like a princess in her bed, but today all she felt was sad. _It’s been a week you silly girl, he’s forgotten all about you. Life isn’t a fairy tale you need to grow up._ Sansa frowned at the thought and ran to take a quick shower. Little more than an hour later she was standing in front of her vanity. She had to check out the outfit she was wearing today, one last time. _I must look perfect. I must be perfect._ Sansa was satisfied with her chosen ensemble, she was wearing her favorite charcoal grey and lavender skirt with a simple white blouse and white ballet flats. She missed her dragonfly necklace but she opted for a simple pearl strand instead.

 

She scratched her sleeping dog behind the ears and kissed the top of her head before she made her way to the kitchen. Hotpie was waiting for her holding a cup of coffee and a plate of homemade lemon poppy seed scones. _Yum!_ Sansa smiled kissed him on the cheek and greedily gobbled up a delicious baked good. She didn’t know where she would be without her part-time roommate. _I would be lonely._ She knew Mycah was coming home from his tour soon and Hotpie would move back in with him. She was happy for them both _even if I am a little bit jealous._ Sansa gave up on love a long time ago but every now and then some part of her wished she hadn’t.

 

“Westeros to Sansa, come in Sansa”

 

Sansa snapped her head back to Hotpie. _Busted, he knows I was daydreaming again._ She bit her lip and watched as Hotpie gently set down his coffee mug.

 

“I’m sorry am I boring you this morning?” He began gesturing and strolling about the tiny kitchen. “Here I was slaving away _all_ morning baking your _favorite_ scones and this is the thanks I get.” He stopped and walked back over to her. Sansa was bright red and hung her head in shame. Her coppery tresses shielded her embarrassment. He gently lifted her head with his pudgy forefinger. “I suppose you would be paying more attention if I was tall, dark and scary?”

 

Sansa just gaped at her roommate and began stammering a protest. He smirked lowered his hand and resumed the lecture as if he couldn’t notice her discomfort all of a sudden. _How could he possibly know what she was feeling like? They hadn’t exactly talked about what happened._ She knew though that he had been worried about the details of what transpired at the bar. _So am I_ , she thought glumly.

 

“Honestly Sansa what were thinking bringing that ex-con home?” Hotpie had once again begun to pace around the small kitchen. She knew he was only acting this way because he cared about her, but she felt the need to defend her mystery man. _When did he become my mystery man? Oh yea, when he ran off with my pie._

 

“You don’t know he was an ex-con.” She placed her hands on her hips and looked defiantly at her part time roommate.

 

Hotpie was ready for her rebuttal however because he didn’t let up on the verbal attack. “He may not have been an ex-con, he could have been in a biker gang. Or perhaps he was a mafia hit man, or worse!’ He paused a minute as if to gather his thoughts. “Sansa, what if he was a High School gym teacher?” Sansa couldn’t help but giggle at the last one. “All I’m saying is whoever he was he isn’t good enough for you, my lemon cake”

 

Sansa smiled up at him. She knew he couldn’t stay mad at her for long. “Why is that, pray tell?”

 

He smirked as he looked back at Sansa. “Because, whoever he is, he is a lemon meringue pie thief. Now I am missing my favorite _antique_ pie pan. Mycah gave me that pan Sansa, and now some guy who bench presses trucks for _breakfast_ has his big man paws on it.” Sansa couldn’t suppress the giggle that escaped her lips. Her roommate threw his hands across his chest and faked a heart attack. _Well,_ _I do feel bad about the missing pie pan_. He sighed and rubbed his face in an exaggerated fashion. “I’m glad you’re okay Sansa, you were very _lucky,_ but please don’t bring home any more potential serial killers.” _He makes a good point._

 

Sansa looked over and saw that Lady was now waiting patiently to be walked. She checked her watch and yelped at the time. “Hotpie will you please walk lady this morning? I’m going to be late for work.” He winked at her as she dashed out of the apartment, with her bag in tow. Sansa made it to the bus stop right as the early bird bus pulled away. “Wait!” She yelled at the bus but it just left her behind anyway. _Gods! What a morning._ She felt a raindrop hit her cheek and she looked up to see rain clouds rolling in. _Perfect, this is just perfect._ She gasped as an umbrella opened above her head and she turned around to come face to face with her neighbor Mr. Bolton.

 

“Did you miss the bus this morning Miss Stark?” _He is always so respectful, just like a gentleman should be._

“Yes.” Her cheeks turned red and she stared at her shoes. “My new schedule starts today and I was hoping to save money by taking the bus instead of a cab.” She sighed. _I sound like a whining child._ Mr. Bolton just looked at her as though she had grown a third head. Sansa just wished she could turn into a bird and fly away from this awkward conversation. _No one wants to hear your whining._ She looked up at her quiet, stoic single neighbor with dark eyes.

 

“I will have my driver pull around and drive you to work.” It wasn’t a question but a statement and Sansa was stunned at his generosity.

 

“Really? Thank you so much Mr. Bolton” _I am the luckiest girl in the world. He is going to lend me the use of his car. “_ I will not be late for the bus again I promise.” Mr. Bolton just blinked at her again and cleared his throat.

 

“Nonsense, Miss. Stark. The bus can be a dangerous place for any young woman. You may use the car to transport you to and from work whenever you require it.” Again she noticed this was not a request but she couldn’t stop her smile from forming on her lips. She was so happy at the thought of riding to work in a luxury car she grasped his hand in hers.

 

“Thank you so much Mr. Bolton. That is very generous of you.” She dropped his hand and blushed furiously. _You look like an idiot, get it together Sansa! He isn’t interested in a stupid silly girl._ He nodded at her and pulled his phone out of the front pocket of his expertly tailored dark suit. She watched in amazement as he hit one number and then wordlessly hung up. _I wonder what it must be like to have that sort of power._ Sansa often wondered if her neighbor was ever as lonely as her. After all he lived alone and she doubted such a busy man, as he would have the time for friends or family.

 

He stood with her as a Black Carriage Escapade pulled up slowly. He held out his arm and she eagerly accepted it as he guided her into the luxurious seats. _He has impeccable manners._ Sansa gave him her biggest smile and thanked him as she rode off to work in a luxury vehicle. She gave the driver the address to The Building of the High Sparrow and she sighed as she leaned her back into the soft leather. _A girl could get used this._ She had arrived to work earlier than expected and went to go find her closet of a small office she shared with Margaery in the basement. All interns were housed here and had to work their way up. The basement was also shared with the large IT department and it’s seemingly endless processors. She heard some moaning as she opened the door and saw a flurry of movement as Margaery and Bronn jumped off her desk. _My desk._

 

Sansa turned bright red and stared the floor where she saw Margery’s lacey black bra. _You have got to be kidding me._ Before Sansa could even speak Margaery started blathering on and on about the lovely flowers Bronn had just sent her, but Sansa wasn’t interested. She just slammed the door behind her and fled to the dungeons located on the third floor. _How could she be messing around with Bronn my desk? How is anyone that thoughtless?_ Sansa was sick of how inconsiderate her so-called _friend_ really was. On her way up she stopped by the lobby to check the lost and found. Her favorite pink scarf had gone missing yesterday and she was hoping someone had turned it on. Her scarf was still MIA but she had faith someone would turn it in. Sansa resumed her journey up to the mail-room. She had never been there but Tyrion had told her yesterday if she ever needed to calm she down the mail-room or the dungeons were the places to go. _He’s always looking after me._

 

She climbed the stairs to the third floor and stopped abruptly when she ran into none other than Theon Greyjoy in the mail-room. He was standing under a broad sign, like the smaller one on the file room door, that read, ‘Dungeons, here there be dragons’. She blinked up at him. _I haven’t seen you in years Theon, where have you been? How long have you been working here?_ They both looked surprised to see one another and neither one of them seemed to know what to say. Once again Sansa found herself in an awkward situation at work, she just couldn’t stand the silence any longer so she spoke first.

 

“How have you been, Theon?” She clasped her hands in front and bit her bottom lip. Sansa had missed her long lost foster brother and it took everything she had to not launch into his arms as she used to as a child. She observed as his shoulders slumped in defeat, and he just stared down at the ugly linoleum floor. “Theon, you know you can talk to me, right?” _How come you never came back?_

 

He mumbled slowly with his fists stuffed firmly in his pockets. “I wanted to be with my family.” He seemed so despondent as he spoke. Theon refused to even look her in the eye as he spoke. She glided toward him as quietly as she could, gently placing her hand on his shoulder.

 

“Theon, we were your family. We loved you for you. It hurt when you brushed us all off to go live with your biological father, Balon. The man was a notorious drug kingpin.” Sansa couldn’t help but shake her head at that sad memory. _You broke Daddy’s heart and then you didn’t even bother to attend the funeral._ “I don’t really know if I will ever understand why you left, but I do know I miss you.” She smiled at her long lost brother and hoped he would feel her sincerity. He slowly raised his head up and looked at her. Sansa could see his eyes glistening, and the thought warmed her heart.

 

‘My, my, my what a touching family reunion” Sansa looked behind her and noticed _Ramsay Snow_ was leaning in the doorway. _If he doesn’t turn out to be a serial killer I will be surprised._ Sansa hated Ramsay; he was always a rotten influence on Theon when he was younger. _How Theon ever called you friend I will never know._ Ramsay had lived down the road from her as a child and did everything he could to drive both Sansa and Arya insane. He would rip the heads off her dolls, tear her dresses, and throw rocks at the stray cats. He even called Arya horse face until she bloodied his nose. Last they had heard he was locked up in a northern Juvenile Detention Facility and they hadn’t wasted one more moment even thinking about him. _Of course you would be scurrying about a place nicknamed the dungeon, you rat faced weasel._

 

Sansa looked up at Ramsay and smiled as politely as she could. “It’s good to see you again Ramsay.” _Lies."_ How long have you been working here?” _If you so much as touch me then I will spray you down with my entire bottle of pepper spray._ Ramsay just smiled his disgusting smile at her and walked over toward them. Sansa backed up and kept her distance. She clutched her purse tighter and briefly envisioned herself kicking him square in his balls.

 

“Oh Theon and I have been here for about a year, haven’t we Theon?” He wasn’t speaking to her face, but her chest. _Just wait until I tell Arya you’re back. She will do more than bloody your nose if you even breathe at me the wrong way._ Sansa spared a side-glance over at a cowering Theon. _So much for a rescue, I need to get out of here fast._ Sansa looked around and spied a box of papers marked SHRED ME and quickly snatched it up. It was surprisingly heavy but she didn’t care. She would do anything to get away from, _I-torture-small-animals_ Ramsay.

 

Sansa looked up at Ramsay and spoke as clearly as she could. “Well, I would _love_ to stay and chat with you guys but I have work to do.” _Lies, the only work I really need to do on is not dry heaving whenever you’re around skuzz-bucket._ She scooted around Ramsay giving him a wide birth and strode out the door, then down to the hall where she found the File room tucked beside the mail-room. Lommy once told her this room contained a massive industrial paper shredder and a handful of copiers, she prayed he was right. Sansa would do _anything_ to avoid Ramsay even going back downstairs to see Margaery and her sex-capades. _I really need to bleach that desk._

 

She noticed with great relief that Lommy was in the back of the file room, struggling underneath a broken copier his arms covered in toner. Sansa smiled at the sight of the small man battling a giant dragon in a place known as the dungeon. Lommy was one of the few friends she had made at SOE. He was quiet and small but quick witted and he could always make her laugh. She needed to see a friendly face after that _creepfest_ in the other room. _Well a friendly pair of legs anyway._ His face was inside the copier and a string of expletives was filling the room, causing Sansa to giggle. She strode over to the shredder and silently began feeding the folders in one page at a time.

 

Her mind was whirling with all the new information she had learned. _Did Theon even know I was working here? Why didn’t he stop by and say hello?_ The realization he could have been ignoring her stung a bit.

 

A soft tug at her long skirt like someone had trod on it made Sansa look down. Sansa was distracted when she felt a hand press down on her arm she jumped. Ramsay was resting his disgusting hand on her arm. She jerked her arm away, thankful she was wearing long sleeves. _I swear by The Old Gods and The New I will wash my blouse twice when I get home._

 

“Do not touch me Ramsay.” She was serious and she practically growled at him. There was something about his eyes reminded her of Joffrey and she didn’t want him anywhere near her. He just sneered back and that’s when everything fell apart. The shredder began to make strange noises and she realized she was stuffing the entire contents of a large folder into the mouth of the shredder at one time. Ramsay sprang into action to pull the folder out and somehow her skirt was being sucked in.

 

Sansa didn’t want to die in a dungeon or anywhere near Ramsay so she screamed as she furiously tried to pull her skirt back out. Lommy jumped up smacking his head against the copier and scrambled over the beast attacking her. He quickly tore the back off, reaching for the emergency off switch. Sansa launched into a full-blown panic attack when she saw Ramsay leering at her, her vision tunneling, and all of a sudden he wasn’t Ramsay- he was Joffrey. _No that’s impossible._ Nothing was what it seemed anymore and she couldn’t breathe, the walls were caving in around her. Joffrey grabbed her waist but she had no intention of letting him touch her _ever_ again. She sprang from his grip and flew into a wall, _no, not a wall, it was him, again_.

 

She was looking up at Grey Eyes. He would protect her from Joffrey. _He won’t hurt me._ She was drowning in sea of fear and he was her life vest. She clung to him desperately.She felt herself babbling but it didn’t matter as long as she could burry her face into his neck. _He is safe, he won’t hurt me ,and I am safe._ The aroma of a familiar cologne wafted into her senses and she could feel her heartbeat begin to slow down.

 

She heard someone clear their throat and Sansa blushed as she became aware once again of her surroundings. Her panic was slowly subsiding thanks to the strong arms of Grey Eyes. Her world was no longer spinning but she was far from okay. Sansa slowly slid down the front of her rescuer and tried to wrap her brain around what was happening. She closed her eyes willing the world to make sense again. Ramsay was here, Joffrey was not, Lommy was here, Grey Eyes was real and she was naked. _Wait, what!_ Sansa looked down and saw that the bottom half of her skirt was in tatters, her thighs exposed and she was in a room full of men. _I am a Stark I can be brave._ She was willing herself not to faint when she heard a familiar voice call out to her.

 

“Miss Stark?” it was the voice of Mr. Baelish. “Are you quite alright, Miss Stark?” He sounded so concerned, it was more than she could handle and she broke down crying. She just pointed at Ramsay. That skeezeball was trying to blame the demon shredder but Sansa was clearly not pointing at the shredder. She hoped someone would notice but all she could do now was focus on her breathing.

 

“Clegane, you couldn’t even offer her your coat to protect her modesty?” Mr. Baelish spat that last line out.

 

_Wait, what’s a Clegane?_ She wondered but couldn’t bring herself to do anything but breathe in and out.

 

Sansa felt a large coat being placed gently over her shoulders and she wrapped it tightly around her body. It was large and she was able to wrap it securely around her, covering her scars. She could feel her body relaxing but she knew she needed to sit down before she passed out.

 

“Thank you” She mumbled to know one in particular. She was tired and now she had a splitting headache. Her first attack hadn’t quite passed and she didn’t want to pass out in a room full of men. _Breathe, just breathe._ She looked up as she saw a few more strange men enter this ever shrinking room. Everyone was arguing and yelling about the shredder and pointing at her. Sansa couldn’t take her eyes off the smug look on Ramsay’s face. She just pulled the coat around her tighter and found herself leaning against Grey Eyes. He hadn’t moved an inch and she was glad. _At least I stopped crying,_ she realized.Her brain suddenly registered that she must be wearing _Grey Eyes’ coat_. She was leaning completely against him, as she seemingly had no strength left. She gazed up at him and murmured. “My name is Sansa.” She would never forgive herself if she didn’t learn his name.

 

He looked deep into her eyes, and his face was just as she remembered. _And I remember everything that night._

“My name is Sandor.” His voice was just as gruff as she remembered and she smiled slightly. She just nodded at him and looked over as Margaery and Bronn waltzed into the already claustrophobic room. This dungeon was full of people, too many people, she felt the panic grow and she could do nothing to stop it now but cling onto Sandor’s arm. She realized both Tyrion and Theon had miraculously walked into this small room and everyone was yelling about safety violations, hazards, lawsuits, sexual harassment, a Mrs. Clara, and all Sansa knew was the room wouldn’t stop spinning. She locked eyes with a concerned Tyrion and that was the last straw.

 

“Help me please,” She mumbled before she fainted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many creepy men in Kings Landing, what's a Sansa to do? Perhaps a better question would be what’s a Sandor to do?  
> You commentators all deserve a high five or fist bump... whatever you prefer for being so awesome.  
> Another round of Flaming Wights are on the house.  
> YOU GUYS ROCK!  
> Speaking of Irish Rock this chapter title was inspired by Dropkick Murphys.


	7. People Are Strange

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All intellectual and artistic property borrowed within this story belong to the original author George R. R. Martin.
> 
> Direwaggle42 and Jennilynn411 are just taking these characters and places for a spin, like a 47 Mercury Sedan with a new low-rider suspension rolling down the city blocks, slow and easy.
> 
>  
> 
> *tips hat towards FankyKid* Much thanks to the loveliest of Betas!

_Well, that did not go as planned._

In fact, that had gone sideways even faster than he and the Dornish lass from the Serpentine. _Although_ , Tyrion half chuckled to himself, _we went sideways in a much more amicable manner_. Snapping back to the situation at hand, Tyrion found himself in a swarm of leggy idiots flitting here and there around the half bent form of the half burnt younger son of a notorious family holding the wilted oldest Stark girl.

 _Such a pretty willowy thing, far too kind and sweet for that family blight from a cursed family_.

Clegane’s head whipped around as if he could hear Tyrion’s thoughts, the big man’s wild grey eyes all furry and confusion and a dash of something very nearly sweet.

_Not you, Clegane. You have more humanity in your little finger than my mercifully martyred nephew ever had in his body, no matter how many crocodile tears he cried._

_Bright side, at least Sansa didn’t faint atop yours truly this time. Cause, it would have been a shame if this whole situation had gotten awkward._

With a clap of his small hands, Tyrion began herding people out of the file and copy room, and back out into the third floor hallway. _Just a dwarf cattle dog snapping at the heels of a herd of stone cattle from Faros._

“Move along, move along, nothing to see here, nothing to see here.” Tyrion put on his best _large and in charge_ Lannister voice, mimicking the stern way his father used to order him, Jaime, and even Cersei out of the house to the limousine that would take them to their respective academies. “Mormont, what are you doing, man?” Jorah was pacing, looking like a bear with a bee in its bonnet.

“We’re going to be sued, Tyrion.” Jorah growled with a small whine. For once the stickler for company policies dropped the formal use of last names. _That alone is an indicator that the silly old bear is out of his depths_.

“We are not going to be sued.” Tyrion led his friend over to the door to the hall. _Gods, if we are sued it sure as seven hells won’t fall on our heads._

“I can’t see why we wouldn’t be. Do you see that girl?” Jorah was speaking quietly in a feverishly small voice now. “She looks like she was _ravaged_ by the godsdamned shredder.”

“Why don’t you go talk to your very favorite head of HR. This will all be sorted out, have no fear.” Jorah nodded, biting his lip and one hand tugging unconsciously at a tuft of sandy blonde hair. “Don’t forget to grab the chocolate covered candied lemon rinds I had sent to your office. Hop to, Teddy!” Jorah frowned, began to protest, then shaking his head, he left to find Mrs. Clara down the hall.

The only people left in the room when Tyrion returned were Sandor Clegane, _the man whose family almost puts my own to shame_ , Sansa Stark, _fainted in the arms of the most unlikely of heroes_ , Ramsay Snow, _a lad who looks like he would like to take whatever hangs between his thighs in hand at the sight of a pretty lass frightened into fainting,_ and Little Finger. Tyrion thought if he listened hard enough he would be able to hear the words _Little Fucker_ grind out of Clegane’s clenched jaw to drip down his burnt lips like froth from a dog’s snarling jowls.

“Snow, you are not needed here.” Tyrion snapped his thumb and forefinger and pointed towards the door where Theon Greyjoy was hovering. Snow left, taking Theon with him, but to Tyrion’s disgust, Ramsey sauntered past Tyrion while letting one clammy hand brush across the front of his less than subtly tented trousers. _That is one sick puppy_.

“Baelish,” Clegane had composed his face to a mask Tyrion knew all too well, “why don’t you go find one of your _models_ and see if there are any extra pieces of clothing that might be delivered to young Miss Stark’s office.” Petyr Baelish looked about to protest, his beady little eyes narrowing on Tyrion, flicking towards Clegane with a flash of anger and disgust, and then melting into bland disinterest. _Like he doesn’t care. Like she isn’t the spitting image of her mother. But she isn’t her mother. And even if she was_ —the thought was cut off by Sandor Clegane barking.

“You heard _the imp_ , Baelish. Get the young woman something besides my bloody suit jacket to fuckin’ cover up with.” _Such a way with words. Really it is such a surprise women do not fall into your lap more often._

“Run along, Baelish.” Tyrion couldn’t help but smirk at the way Baelish managed to scurry away like a rat even with his long legs. A frown pulled his lips down when Tyrion turned back to Clegane and Sansa. Clegane was standing now, the young woman so small and pale in his arms. His grey suit coat went well past her hips and swamped her thin limbed body. “Come along, Clegane, my office, then?” Without a word of protest or even one of his standard snorts, Sandor followed Tyrion out of the file room, back up one of the less often used stairs, and up, directly to Tyrion’s brightly lit office on the fourth floor. Clegane carefully set Sansa into a chair.

“Here,” Tyrion hunted around in a desk drawer, “yes, here, smelling salts.” Tyrion allowed a lopsided grin to float onto his features, a smile for show and for truth. “Lovely sister gave them to me years ago; she said something about clients fainting at the sight of me.”

At the unnamed mention of Cersei, Tyrion could see Clegane’s muscles bunch and tighten. _Wound too damn tight that one, but who can blame him. Cersei was—is—a bitch in every since of the word._ He hated that word used that way. He hated the way it was used like _cunt_ to mean something negative, when in fact it just meant something female, warm, and alive. _And wet_. _Although,_ Tyrion reflected, _one was fine to occasionally be licked by, but the other was worlds more fun to lick_. _In fairness, Cersei was also a complete dick._

“Little Bird?” Clegane was murmuring down to the girl. He knelt, his twisted face drawn with concern. _Little bird, huh. No wonder that hit a nerve._ It had not been until Tyrion saw Sansa the day after the night at the Serpentine that he realized who that _lovely, dashing, and damned familiar_ red head was at the bar. He had seen the Hound and the Sansa leave together, but until now he had not been certain what had transpired afterwards. “Little Bird, wake up.” Clegane called, voice a rumble of stones down a hill side.

When she came to after another few quiet breaths of the zesty smelling salts, she went rigid before the big man. Clegane pulled back as if physically hit, rocking back on his heels, and keeping the good side of his visage towards Sansa. Pulling the jacket tight around her body, pulling her creamy knees together to hide beneath the folds of fabric, she finally dared to look at the two men before her. When her eyes alighted on Tyrion her shoulders dropped and a look of relief passed over her refined features.

“Is, is he gone?” She asked at last. The words fell like the twinkling of glass.

Both Tyrion and Sandor tilted their heads in unison and as Tyrion murmured, “Who, Sansa?” Sandor growled with an unusual blush, “Who, Little Bird?”

“Ramsay,” she shivered, “Ramsay Snow, is he gone? I’m,” she gulped, “I am certain he did something to…” She trailed off looking lost. She looked around now and her eyes of sky widened. “Where am I?” Alarm was beginning to spike through her voice and Tyrion quickly explained that they had moved to his office, Clegane had carried her, and she was safe.

“You keep having to pick me up,” she mumbled into the sleeve of Clegane’s light charcoal jacket, hiding her face as blood ran to her ashen features. “I’m sorry that you keep having to carry me.”

“You’re no burden.” Clegane growled out, tipping his chin up and looking away. _Real smooth, Florian_. “What do you eat anyway?” the big man grumbled, sounding nearly angry, though Tyrion thought Clegane was trying for another go at his patented Hound humor. In any case he was certainly making Sansa a little nervous if her wide eyes were any indicator. “Bird seed?”

Sansa gave a choked little laugh, dipped her head, a small smile on her face, but said no more. Clegane looked shocked that he had made a girl laugh and sat there watching Sansa like she might evaporate if he did not.

“Ramsay frightened you, did he?” Tyrion queried with an offhand hum.

“His eyes were too much like _his_ eyes.” As confused as Clegane looked, Tyrion knew exactly who the _he_ was in question. _Joffrey._ “And when he, well, I suppose he will say he tried to help, but I’m certain he was not.” Sansa’s eyes were begging both of them to believe her. “Please, I know that sounds paranoid, but I asked him not to touch me before.” She sighed, “I cannot trust someone with those eyes. I’m afraid that some,” Sansa’s eyes turned to Clegane’s and held him there as sure as any tether ever held a dog, “some people are born wrong, born to turn bad.” She finished at last, looking as if she felt her words would fall on deaf ears.

_Have I not proven my loyalties to you and your sister by now?_

Clegane cleared his throat. Tyrion could see the way he was holding himself still, keeping his voice even, his eyes distant, torso turned away, and tamping down the dam of emotions those words might let flood his burnt body.

“Wouldn’t trust that fish eyed little sadist as far as I could throw him.” Clegane was boring a hole through Tyrion’s office door, mouth twitching on the right involuntarily.

“I agree, Sansa.” Sansa’s eyes opened wide in relief and astonishment. “You know you can come to me about this kind of thing.” Tyrion swallowed, wondering if he was tiptoeing or leaping over a line with the eldest Stark girl.

“I know, Tyrion.” Sansa murmured, looking up through those long lashes. She sighed again and reached out one of her little hands across the desk. The sleeve of Clegane’s coat fell well past her hands, but with the stretch, her fingertips peaked out of the cuffs, to touch Tyrion’s knuckles. Then, as soon as her fingers met Tyrion’s skin, she withdrew again.

“I will help you fill out the paper work for a formal complaint if you like.” Sansa was turning in on herself, her shoulders hunching. “But perhaps that is a conversation for another day. Clegane, do you think that Ms. Stormborn would mind if Ms. Stark took a half day?” Sandor shrugged and looked like he wanted to say _fuck no, she’d be fine with it_ , but instead he just sniffed and shook his scarred head. “Alright. Well, I will contact Ms. Stormborn and explain the situation. Sansa, do you mind if I ask Clegane to escort you home?” Sansa’s face went from pale to a blush and she also quietly shook her head. Clegane looked torn between relief and annoyance.

“If it is going to be inconvenient for you,” Sansa looked right in Clegane’s hard eyes, “then I can easily call my neighbor to send his car to pick me up.”

“Who is your neighbor, Sansa?” Tyrion asked when Clegane just raised a confused brow.

“Mr. Bolton, Roose Bolton I believe is his full name. He moved in just a few weeks after I did.” Sansa’s voice was lilting more happily now. Tyrion reeled at the idea, and found himself sitting back heavily in his desk.

“I would not have imagined you to be on friendly terms with _Roose Bolton_ , Sansa. Where did you..?”

“Well, he rents the biggest flat on my floor. He’s lent me an umbrella a few times... and his car today.” She replied with a slight frown. “Is something wrong?”

“He is just—.” Tyrion was cut off by Clegane’s barely subdued snarl.

“The man owns night clubs up and down King’s Landing.” Clegane shot Tyrion a look that clearly screamed _what the fuck does Roose godsdamned Bolton want with the Little Bird?_ “He’s—.”

“Just not someone I would let your guard down around is all, Sansa.” Tyrion said diplomatically. Steepling his fingers, Tyrion surveyed the mismatched pair in front of him through his miss matched eyes. “I should probably go speak with Ms. Stormborn now.” He hopped down from his chair, head bobbing above the desk. Side stepping the hulking frame of Clegane, Tyrion touched the chair arm beside Sansa. He knew too well to try to comfort her with a hand on her shoulder. “Clegane will take you home, now, if you are ready, Sansa.” Sansa nodded and standing on somewhat unsteady legs, she carefully bent her head and whispered a quiet _thank you, Tyrion_.

The last Tyrion saw of them was Sansa, leaning into Clegane’s side, tucked right under an awkwardly stiff arm, the big man’s meaty paw hovering a few inches away from her shoulder.

As they passed through the door to the virtually unused stairwell, Tyrion caught sight of the elevator doors opening. Petyr Baelish wore a slick black pinstripe suit, a maroon tie, his mockingbird tie pin, and a decidedly smug look on his face. Over one arm was draped a designer dress bag.

 _Well, well, well_ , Tyrion chuckled as the elevator dinged once more and then closed. _Someone is going to be quite disappointed when they get to the interns’ offices_. _But you know what they say, Little Finger_ , _a bird with a hound is better than two with a Baelish._


	8. I Will Posses Your Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry you guys this is one super creepy chapter.  
> We apologize profusely if you find yourself dry heaving before the end!

You slam down both fists onto your desk and cursed the name of _Tyrion Lannister_. That demon monkey had the audacity to send your goddess home with that brute. Was he mad? Sandor was a Clegane, everyone who was anyone knew a Clegane couldn’t be trusted. You were glad you had your office soundproofed a while ago, it wouldn’t do any good to draw attention to yourself. You kicked your desk again as your thoughts turned back toward Tyrion. How _dare_ that disgusting little half man send away _your_ goddess early, the cameras had yet to be installed in her apartment. Sansa is all that matters now.

 

_She belongs to you._

 

Earlier this week you had the foresight to ensure that hidden cameras had been successfully installed in both the intern office and in the women’s restroom. You had _planned_ to install additional cameras into Sansa’s home at a later date but after her most recent brush with death you needed them installed sooner. The Kettleblack Brothers were expensive but they did come highly recommended for such jobs. You needed absolute discretion and that was what money could buy. She was worth every penny as long as she was safe. Sansa Stark had real enemies and you would do anything to keep her safe. _The world was full of sick individuals and she needed to be protected_. Sansa is all that matters now.

 

_She belongs to you._

 

What you didn’t understand was why Sansa was in the Dungeon in the first place. You turn on your computer to review the camera footage of her office. You smile watching as the large bouquet of flowers you ordered for her are delivered are set carefully onto her immaculate desk. Your smile soon falls however when that _whore_ Margaery Tyrell shows up. She immediately gravitates toward the beautiful flowers and even reads _your_ card. You watched as her _unworthy_ hands then pick up the vase to move the bouquet onto _her_ desk. She had stolen _your_ gift to _Sansa_ ; she had the audacity to steal from _your_ goddess. That idiot who called himself Bronn came in a short time later and after what looked to be a quick discussion between the two they immediately began to have sex on Sansa’s desk. _Who did they think they were?_ _Who does that to another person’s desk?_ After all _you_ had planned on having sex on that desk and now _they_ were ruining everything. You watched helplessly as the footage showed Sansa walking in, pausing and then running out _. They had chased her away, they were the reason she was going home with Sandor Clegane._ You now pick up your desk lamp and throw it against the wall watching as it breaks in two before your eyes. _They will both pay for this, you are not a forgiving man._ Sansa is all that matters now.

 

_She belongs to you._

 

The next video file you view is the security footage you had hacked from the Dungeon. Just how exactly did Sansa enter the room fully clothed and yet leave passed out, half naked in the arms of Sandor Fucking Clegane? It didn’t make any sense at all, she should be falling into your arms. Not his. Everything about today defied logic. You must have watched this scene a hundred times today and you just couldn’t figure out how her skirt had become lodged into the paper shredder. She was such a fragile thing, that shredder could have killed her and you were defenseless to stop it. You didn’t like that feeling _at all_. Perhaps you could hire a hidden bodyguard _or two_ to watch her when you couldn’t. But you don’t like that idea either; no one should be close to her _except you_. You are angry that she even had to leap into that monster’s arms, but she was so frightened you couldn’t really blame her. Next time it would be your arms she clung to. You won’t fail her next time by being too far away. You would have to explain why her behavior was inappropriate at a later date. Sansa is all that matters now.

 

_She belongs to you._

 

This whole situation was entirely frustrating. Women in general could be very beautiful but frustrating creatures. They wanted to be held close and yet would push away. They would tell you no when their eyes screamed yes. Women wanted to be taken care of and yet retain their independence. They were walking contradictions in heels and normally you didn’t give them a thought. The only thing you needed them for was to satisfy your needs with the space in between their legs. You smile as you think of Sansa, _your Sansa_ and how she was different. Every time she was around you she would give you her shy smile and you knew she meant it. She was falling in love with you; _of course she would_. What surprised you was _you_ had returned _her_ affection tenfold. Sansa is all that matters now.

 

_She belongs to you._

 

You never had anything that would classify as a true relationship in your life. How could you continue your relationship with your goddess when you didn’t know how exactly to proceed? You were loathed to admit that you could use some advice on what your next move should be. _In disgust_ you fire off a quick email in the hopes that a third party might shed some light on your current predicament. Sansa was your lady and you were her knight. This whole idea that you were lost completely _baffles_ you. He had read that love could turn men into fools but you never experienced it firsthand until now. It was your destiny to be together and _no one_ was going to get in _your_ way. _No one_ Sansa is all that matters now.

 

_She belongs to you._

You sighed and opened the hidden compartment located underneath your desk. You withdrew a delicate dragonfly necklace wrapped tightly in a pick scarf. These were your greatest treasures, the tokens of a forbidden love as it were. You buried your face in the soft pink scarf and closed your eyes as the faint scent of lemons filled your senses. It had been difficult getting your hands on this lovely scarf but the trouble had all been worth it. After all if she didn’t want you to have it she wouldn’t have just left it out in the open. You smiled as you envisioned her naked form draped across this very desk wearing nothing but _this_ pink, delicate scarf. You feel yourself slowly becoming aroused at the thought and you unzip your pants and take yourself in hand smiling as you think of all the things you will do to her. She will be moaning your name before this is over begging for her release. Sansa is all that matters now.

 

_She belongs to you._

 

Images and thoughts of her instantly flood your mind and you respond in kind. You need this release now as much as you need her. Your hand pumps quicker as the pressure continues to build. You picture her beautiful blue eyes staring up at you full of want, her red hair wild and free. You imagine how big your cock will look with her slender fingers wrapped around it. Yes, you stroke even faster as you listen to the sounds of her choking. You climax now as you picture your sperm sliding down her graceful throat she will then look up and smile. She will be so _thankful_. She will be so _grateful_. Sansa is all that matters now.

 

_She belongs to you._

You prepare a mental list of all the things you will need to teach so she does not disappoint. You glance down at your hand; it is sticky and wet with sperm. You are suddenly annoyed that she isn’t here to clean up this mess she made. But you will discuss this folly with her at a later date. You grasp her scarf firmly and inhale her scent deeply once more before you begin to clean yourself off with it. The scarf feels so soft and innocent and you begin to vigorously rub yourself with it. You refuse to wash this scarf now that it is perfect. You will make her wear it one day for you. This new mixture of dried sperm and lemon scent on the lovely scarf will become an aphrodisiac to her. Sansa is all that matters now.

 

_She belongs to you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo that was super, super creepy! We did warn you however!  
> *note* a few more warning tags have been added... yeah... yeaaahhh...  
> We again apologize for any dry heaving and or nightmares this chapter may have caused.  
> Death Cab For Cutie was a big inspiration for this chapter. They sang an absolutely beautifully creepy song.


	9. Three Little Birds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All intellectual and artistic property borrowed within this story belongs to the original author George R. R. Martin.  
> Direwaggle42 and Jennilynn411 are just taking these characters and places for a spin, like a black mid to late 60s Chevrolet Impala with a cherry red interior, endless open roads, and a basket of cassette tapes.
> 
> *Tips hat and and holds up mug of coffee to FancyKid*  
> As always, you're the best Beta we could ask for :D

Sansa wrapped Sandor’s coat tighter about her body, she braced against the cold northern wind. “I still can’t believe we work together, what are the odds?” She had said it quietly and wasn’t even sure Sandor had heard her. She watched as strands of her hair were being blown wildly about in the wind. Her heart seemed to stop abruptly as Sandor gently tucked a fiery lock behind her ear, his roughed calloused hand brushed lightly against her cheek. His eyes locked with hers and she felt as if some invisible force was slowly pushing them together. Time was standing still when she heard a voice behind her.

“Miss Stark, are you alright?”

She jumped and turned in surprise as Roose Bolton’s chauffeur stood just off to the left of them. _I didn’t even notice the car pull up._ Her cheeks were red with embarrassment and she once again pulled his coat tightly around her slender frame. She was so grateful that Sandor had relented and allowed her to call the car service. _I just want to get home._ The chauffeur was frowning and she noticed for the first time he was carrying a holstered gun on his hip. She didn’t even seem surprised. _Of course Mr. Bolton would have armed guards. He is an important man, you silly girl._ What she wasn’t thrilled about however, was the fact that his hand was resting on that very holster.

“No, I’m not alright.” Her voice began to tremble once again but she took a deep breath and tried to compose herself. _I am a Stark I can be strong. “_ There was an accident at work please sir, I’d like to go home.” The chauffeur nodded at her request and opened the car door for her, never taking his eyes off of Sandor. Sansa gave him a weak smile and motioned for Sandor to follow her inside the car.

The chauffer stood straight up and slammed the car door shut before they could even reach it. “That is not coming with us Miss. Stark.” _Did he really just call Sandor ‘that’?_ She heard an audible growl come out of Sandor that made her blood freeze. She squared her shoulders back and looked directly into the eyes of the rude chauffer. _Nobody makes fun of my Sandor. Wait a minute my Sandor?_

“His name is Mr. Clegane and Tyrion Lannister instructed him to deliver me home safely.” She could feel her hands trembling _I hate confrontation._ But she valiantly pushed on anyway. “If you refuse to drive us _both,_ I will be more than happy to call a cab.” She didn’t know when she had placed her hands on her hips defiantly but the coat had become opened exposing her now almost bare legs. She flushed red with embarrassment and closed the jacket quickly. She could tell though that he rude chauffer had stared a little too long at her body. _Please just don’t shoot Sandor._ She silently prayed.

“The boss won’t like it Miss. Stark. I have my orders.” The chauffer still had not taken his eyes off of Sandor but at least his hand had moved away from the gun.

Sansa looked again at the mysteriously well-armed chauffer. He was tall and lanky with a brown beard and a wild mustache. “I’m sorry that I didn’t ask you this earlier but what is your name sir?” She was staring hard at him now. _I am a Stark, I can be brave._

His eyes were still trailing all over her body and she felt Sandor stiffen up beside her. “They call me Locke, Miss. Stark. But, my orders are my orders and he’s not coming.” He pointed a bony finger in Sandor’s direction.

Sansa narrowed her eyes at him and her voice and she raised the volume of her voice so he would not mistake what she would say next. “Well then Mr. Locke, I will be sure to tell Mr. Bolton that the reason I was left to freeze in the cold, half naked was because you were following _his_ orders.” Sansa would bet five gold dragons that Mr. Bolton would be furious to learn she had been left waiting at all. Locke’s lips tightened into a forced smile and he jerked the car door open for them. She couldn’t be sure but she thought she heard a small chuckle come from Sandor.

“So the little bird has talons after all.” The phrase was almost whispered and she glanced back to see a surprised look on Sandor’s face. She giggled nervously as they both slid into the luxury car. Sansa was still cold so she instinctively wrapped his muscular arm about her shoulder and scooted in closer to him. He must have noticed her teeth chattering because he pressed himself firmly into her side. _He smells like the woods, he smells like home._ She mused silently to herself. His body was a raging thermos and she instantly felt safe in his strong, warm arms. She leaned her head against his shoulder as they rode in silence back to her apartment.

The traffic was unbearably slow and what should have been a short trip took well over an hour. Sansa began to ask Sandor about what exactly he did at SOE but with a sigh she decided she would wait for another less eventful day for such a discussion. Sansa even dozed off a bit, when she awoke she thanked the Gods that she hadn’t drooled. Locke didn’t even get out of the car once they reached her building. He refused to even open her door. _He is so rude. I am definitely telling Mr. Bolton about this._ Sandor however was more than happy to scramble out of his side of the car and hold out his hand for her. _He really is a gentleman._ They both exited the car without looking back.

Sansa couldn’t help but giggle yet again as they neared her apartment. Sandor looked at her curiously and asked, “What’s so funny Little Bird?” She realized he probably thought she was laughing at him so she wrapped her arm tighter around his and gave him a shy smile.

“Last time we were here you carried me in like a bride.” Sansa immediately covered her mouth and turned red. _Like a bride Sansa? Like a bride! You will scare him away with talk like that!_ She was mortified until she saw that he was wearing a slight smirk. Sansa opened the door and yelped as Lady jumped up and knocked her back into his arms. _His strong muscled arms._ “Lady no!” She scolded her dog but gave up as soon as she realized lady was covering Sandor in sloppy kisses.“I think it’s safe to assume she missed you.” _She wasn’t the only one._

“Would you like to come in Sandor?” She gestured him inside as she pulled her giant husky off him. He followed her inside while Lady retrieved a coveted squeaky ball to bring to him. Sansa smiled affectionately at the scene enfolding around her, Lady had never really been affectionate with anyone but Hotpie. _That’s only because he feeds her too many treats._ Sansa excused herself to go and change in her bedroom. Once she was inside her room she no longer cared about being a fashionable icon. She wanted to be warm, comfortable and relaxed. She threw off the remnants of her ruined outfit and wiggled into her bird-patterned pajamas. Sansa carefully hung his jacket on the back of the door. She topped off her non-stylish look by pulling her hair unto a messy bun, and slipping on some pink fuzzy socks. _He will think you look like an idiot Sansa. Oh well._

When Sansa reemerged from the bedroom she found Sandor wrestling on the floor with Lady. She giggled yet again and realized sadly she couldn’t remember the last time she had laughed so much. _Joffrey may have killed your dreams but you can still find joy._ She watched as Lady walked over to the door whining and began scratching it. “Oh I’m sorry Lady, do you need to go for a walk?” Lady seemed to wag her tail in agreement. Sansa just sighed and looked down at her pajama ensemble. “I’ll go change.” She stated dejectedly.

“I can take her for a walk.” Sansa turned to give Sandor the biggest smile of her entire life. She quickly grabbed Lady’s leash and a plastic disposable bag and handed them over to Sandor before he could change his mind.

“She likes to pee by the tree across the street.” Sansa knew she was rambling but she was just so happy she didn’t have to go back outside. “I’ll make us some hot tea, so you can get warmed up once you get back inside” Lady was already pulling Sandor out the door before he could respond. Sansa waved to them both before she shut the door and skipped about the kitchen as she put the kettle on. _I hope he likes lemon tea._ She was humming to herself when she heard a knock at the door. _I wonder if Sandor forgot something._ She opened her door and was surprised to see Mr. Bolton standing in front of her holding a package with a concerned look on his face.

“Miss Stark is everything alright?” He peered into her open apartment and even Sansa turned around to look. She felt very foolish standing in front of her neighbor wearing fuzzy socks and flannel pajamas. “This package came for you it was delivered by mistake to my residence.” He handed the box over and his hand brushed against her. Sansa couldn’t help but smile a little.

She knew he had asked her a question but with everything that had happened today her mind suddenly went blank. _Gods!_ Luckily she was able to recover and stammered out a reply. “Yes, yes I’m fine now thank you for asking… Mr. Bolton.” _Smooth Sansa, real smooth._

“Miss Stark my driver notified me that it looked as though you had been attacked.” Sansa was sure her face matched her hair at that moment. Thankfully he ignored her embarrassment and continued on speaking, his light eyes never leaving hers. “If you ever feel that you are in any danger just say the word and I will hire you a body guard immediately.” _That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said._

Sansa was almost tempted to take him up on that offer. _Almost_. “I had an accident at work.” Sansa couldn’t help but mumble that last part. She looked into his eyes and could tell he wanted more information. Sansa looked down and meekly and continued to give him a shortened account of the day’s events, even her fainting spell. _I can’t believe I fainted, right into Sandor’s arms. Gods only knows what he thinks of me._ “I’m sorry I can’t use your car service anymore Mr. Bolton, your driver was just so rude and he scared me.” Sansa didn’t know how long she had been rambling but she felt close to crying again.

Roose Bolton trailed his finger up her throat and under her chin forcing her face to look up at him. “You never have to fear me or my staff, I will hire a different driver for you. Miss Stark. Now I will hear no more complaints about it.” Sansa was now terrified, _I didn’t mean to make him upset. He probably thinks I’m ungrateful. He is not a man to be trifled with._ Sansa was scared, really scared. She jumped when she heard Lady’s loud bark and looked over to see her massive husky dragging Sandor back down the hall toward her. Sansa was never so relieved than she was at that moment. _I could kiss that man. Wait—what?_

Sansa mumbled something to the men now standing on either side of her and walked Lady into the apartment shutting the door behind her. She slumped onto the floor ready to curl up in a ball but Lady kept on licking her face until all her fears just melted away.

 

 

 

Sandor felt as if each step they took towards the little bird’s nest was re learning a once familiar but long forgotten dance. He could almost taste the lemon meringue pie in the cool air conditioned stairwell. The red carpeted stairs were softly muted, reminding him of the feel of her auburn hair between his thumb and forefinger. He had reached out and moved the lock aside before he could think about how frightening it might be for her, his big callused paw scraping against her porcelain flesh.

Now they were at her door and he could only barely hear the whines of Lady above the pounding of his heart. The little bird was swimming in his jacket, the grey suit coat wrapped tightly but falling in billows all the same about her frame. If he could, he would have her no other way. Enveloped in his coat or in his arms, he could keep her warm and safe. _Don’t fool yourself, cur, something this sweet was never meant for the likes of you._ And yet, he had found his lips pulling up of their own accord when she turned her back on him or when she said something and her happiness seemed to reach her eyes. _That walking shit of driver had that right at least._

The door opened a crack and with a silver blaze that wolf of a _Lady_ was toppling her mistress. _She’s always running into me_ , Sandor dazedly mused as the warmth of her lithe body slipped away from his stomach and chest, leaving a trail of regret. _She’d be the first person to run towards me rather than away_. Soon enough though, he was fending off the amiable attacks of her wolf. As if her wings were made of iron, the little bird yanked Lady off of him and walked the wagging and panting mess inside.

“Would you like to come in, Sandor?” His name sounded better to his ears as it rolled off her tongue and for a moment suspicion tiptoed like an Iron Born in jackboots across his mind. _Chirp, chirp, chirp. Little birds don’t really want my company—_ his mind began the old tirade but her wistful eyes as they turned down to look at her pet derailed that train of thought. Rather than snapping at her as a mangy stray, too often beaten and tossed aside, is want to do, he followed her into her white lace and lavender scented sanctuary.

“I’ll just,” the little bird’s hands were a flurry of motion as she gestured to herself and the remnants of her outfit, “go change into something a little less… shredded.” She gave a watery laugh, nervous and bubbly. “I’ll just be a moment.” She flitted away to the recesses of her apartment. Sandor lightly trailed about the room, squeaky toy gifted to him by Lady still in his hand. He squeezed it a couple times and then turned back to the hyperventilating husky. _If you’re pure husky and not some wolf hybrid, the imp is a super model and I’m his press agent._

Dogs were easier though, Sandor knew. It was for this reason that Sandor soon found himself on the ground, the hundred plus pound dog vying to bounce on his chest, lick his face, and force him to give up the squeaky toy. He had not played with a dog in years. The days at the group home when the local shelters would set up and let the picturesque orphans play with the picturesque pups were bitter sweet memories. He and Dany never got their picture taken as tikes, pups or no. Still, hidden away in the square of grass that the King’s Landing Foster Care system called a ‘recreational yard,’ he, Dany, and all the other damaged goods got to play with the three legged, one eyed, deaf, and white muzzled mutts.

When Sandor heard the little bird’s laughter cascade across the small room, he and Lady broke a part. Lady ran to the door and he looked up to the sight of little birds winging their way across the flannel of his little bird’s pajamas. _His little bird_. The thought echoed in the _clearly fucking empty cavern_ that was his skull, as she cooed to her beast. She wasn’t his; she might— _would—_ never be _his little bird_. At the single syllable of the word “walk,” Lady looked ready to leap out of her skin and Sandor felt about the same.

“I can take her for a walk!” Sandor barked abruptly, standing as quickly as he could and wincing as she flashed one of those smiles that brought his heart to heel. _Anything to get some air and get the block of wood that I’ve been totin’ around callin’ a head all the years on straight._ When she smiled that smile, he couldn’t help but feel as if he was on the street outside the Serpentine again. _Surely this is jape. The cameras will soon be revealed and the little bird will fly far far way._ Instead, she just passed him a leash and a bag for Lady’s shit _._

She called out to him as he was passing through the door, “I’ll make us some hot tea, so you can get warmed up once you get back inside.” _Just one look at you, Little Bird, and I am feeling warm already._ Sandor thought with an appreciative hum at how cute she looked with her feet turning in and out, pink socks slipping and sliding like ice-skates on a pond frozen just in time for Sevenmas. Then he cursed himself with a huffed snarl. He had to duck and dodge to make sure he did not brain himself on the door frame at her grateful grin and her kind words. Passing down the hall, he reminded himself again and again that she was polite, just polite, a little bird chirping her polite words, memorized recipes taught to her by some septa. _How to deal with scary men: good manners and a pinch of sincerity_

Sandor was jerked down the hall towards the elevators as Lady managing to throw all her weight into her forward motion. The elevator dinged open, chiming a cheerful note. A man in a black suit, crisp white button down, and wide silk tie with two intersecting diagonal stripes of cream on a field of red, stepped off the elevator like an undertaker for the posh and the piss rich at a garden party. The man did not give Sandor a passing glance but brushed past the big man, eyes bent towards the ground with a scowl pinching his face, phone plastered to his ear.

“Yes, yes I believe you already explained yourself. Still, I could flay that bastard with my eye teeth.” What else the sour faced man might do given his druthers, Sandor did not hear. The elevator doors blessedly closed and only the sound of Lady’s fluffy tail swooshing against the brushed metal of the elevator interior disturbed the silence.

 

Outside the fall air was surprisingly crisp.

The wind whispered down the street, the voice of the North singing a blue rose lullaby to her southern sister.

 _Winter is coming, the old police chief used to say that_. Sandor thought not for the first time. He moved in wide strides to the couple of trees he thought the little bird had indicated. _Sansa_ , the voice of her pudgy boyfriend broke through his squinting eyed attempts to wrack his brain for a name on the tip of his tongue.

 _Remember that, remember that boy who had you running tail tucked between your legs and an ill begotten pie in your paws. Yeah, he’s the one that she’ll cuddle up with tonight while you bang your head into the brickwork of your bloody loft ‘cause you fucked it up again._ He had never been good at making friends but with the little bird he almost wanted to try. And he had not fucked it up yet. _But you will_ , a voice so like Cersei murmured with a wine lipped whisper. _But you will_.

 _Sansa_ , now Sandor played the way Tyrion said her name through his head, like a friend, like an uncle or a guardian. _Sansa Stark_.

Lady whined as Sandor suddenly became rooted to the pavement. _Sansa Stark was the bloody oldest daughter of Police Chief Eddard Fucking Stark of the godsdamned King’s Landing Police Department._ Stark had always kept his family out of the news and then when the man himself was gunned down, his wife _Mother Knows Best_ Catelyn Stark had managed to both keep the investigations a float and give the media as little chum for their ravenous hangers on as possible. Sandor could see where Sansa got her northern looks and her fire cracker hair, now, and where she got her talons too. _Eddard Stark was a wolf_ , Sandor looked down at Lady who was happily wagging and winding her way back to the Tower’s front lobby doors. _Eddard Stark was a stubborn fuck and a principled one too—which probably got his ass dead—but the man was a wolf as true as you, Lady._ As Sandor was buzzed into the building, he let a grin stretch his scarred face, _and Sansa Stark is a wolf too_.

 

Lady snorted at the elevator’s perky chime. The two stepped off the red carpet and chrome car to pass down the hallway. Lady stilled for a moment and Sandor looked down at her. Icy eyes hard as flint, Lady’s focus was locked at the end of the hall. Sandor turned his gaze up and then he was all coiled muscles, raised hackles, and bared teeth too. The man with the face like a funeral parlor on customer appreciation day was standing, leaning, towards Sansa with his torso. Sansa held a package in her arms and her face was down turned. Sandor and Lady moved forward slowly, Sandor trying to gauge the situation and keep the beast at his hip in check. Though the man’s patent leather shoes were planted a socially acceptable distance from the lass, the way he inclined his head to her, and the way his body seemed to strive to curl around her, even from a distance, set Sandor’s teeth on edge.

A soft growl, a curse under her breath, rumbled out of Lady.

They were half way to the little bird and closing the distance when the man lifted his hand. A pale finger trailed up the young woman’s throat, to pause under her chin, pressing into the soft flesh between the arch of her lower jaw, forcing the little bird to look up. Lady lunged forward, barking savagely, dragging Sandor a few paces before he could rein her in. Sandor felt a numbness course through his veins as he reined in his anger as much as the dog on the leash, breathing in with slow even breaths and blowing the air through his nostrils with bullish puffs. Sansa had jerked a little as the man had laid a hand on her, her throat bobbing with a hard swallow. But she had not run and had not fled into her apartment mere feet behind her.

“Sandor!” She breathed out, relief warbled through her voice. “Here, let me take Ms. Lady inside.” Sandor had moved Lady to his left and had been keeping her as close to the wall and away from the man as possible. “Excuse me for just a moment, Mr. Bolton.” She took Lady’s leash and, for all her bark and bluster, the dog followed her mistress into the apartment with little resistance. The last Sandor saw of the little bird was her wide fearful eyes flicking back out the crack of the door towards Bolton. The door clicked shut and _the fuckin’ famous Mr. Roose Bolton_ rotated slightly away from Sandor and began examining the state of his carefully trimmed fingernails.

“What a dog, huh?” Sandor grated out, letting his long arms fold across his chest. Roose Bolton’s mouth turned down then flat lined in the blink of an eye. “Dogs are good judges of character, though.” Sandor continued. Unlike Lady, Sandor did not feel the need to raise his voice. “Strange how dogs’ll take to some dumb fucks but won’t take to others.” Mr. Bolton finally brought his eyes round to squint up at Sandor, disgust and arrogance written on his parchment pale face.

“That terror looks to be more a menace to Ms. Stark than a pet. But I suppose you know _all_ about rabid dogs, do you not? And you—Mr. _Clegane_ , is it not?” A sickening smirk split Sandor’s face, pulling the scarred and twisted flesh on the right taut, and growing into a smile that nearly ran from ear to ear.

“Oh, aye, _Mr. Bolton_.” Sandor growled out with a mirthless laugh. “I know enough about dogs to know the bad ones go bad because of bad people.” The words the little bird spoke just a few hours earlier sprang to mind. _Some people are born wrong, born to turn bad._ “But that giant fuckin’ dog doesn’t have a bad bone in her body.” Mr. Bolton snorted, but his face was now twisted with annoyance. “She must’ve gotten the scent of something venomous or rotten, is all, or perhaps some vermin creeping around her owner.” Sandor bent his head, leering at Roose Bolton with all his teeth. _You might flay a man with your eye teeth but I’ll rip your godsdamned throat out with mine_. Sandor sniffed. Straightening to his full height, Sandor sniffed the air, turning his nose up. Then stepping forward and leaning down once more, nose parallel with Bolton’s pulse, he growled, “Do you smell that, _Mr. Bolton_?” Mr. Bolton took a measured step back, folding his arms and gave a sloe gin fish eyed blink. “Smells like rats and trash out here.” Sandor breathed in slowly, letting his eyes hold Bolton’s as if a steel wire were strung between them, taut with tension, to allow the unspoken threat to tight rope walk across the air between them. “I think I will ask _Ms. Stark_ if she needs me to take out the trash.”

A ring like an old Dornish rotary dial phone clipped the wire, the tension falling to land at their feet like the cracking of a ceramic tea pot, shards of unspoken words, un made promises, and slivers of absolute certainty littered the floor. Bolton’s breathed a sigh slipped a hand into his coat pocket. Sandor lifted his chin up as Bolton gave a dismissive twitch of his lips then put his phone to his ear and turned away. _Scurry away little rat man_ , Sandor growled inwardly. Bolton was down the hall and into his apartment before Sansa opened her door and popped her head out.

“Oh,” her little mouth pursed as if she might begin whistling a happy tune. “I seem to have missed Mr. Bolton.” The little bird swallowed hard, cleared her throat, and Sandor would have keeled over laughing if the lass had demurely murmured, ‘oh, darn.’ She looked worried, instead, so the laughter died on his lips. “Thanks you for…” _Being an abrasive asshole to your neighbor? Just one of the services my meager friendship can provide_. “Thank you for being here.” She tipped her head towards her apartment interior. He followed her when she murmured that the tea was on and would be ready any time.

 

They had just sat down when Sandor took a sip of the lemon tea, scalded his tongue, and found himself making a low whimpers unconsciously with his tongue stuck out between his lips. The cup in his hand was sky blue with a girl in buttercup and gold dancing across the curved surface; it looked comically small in his large hands. When the girl giggled his eyes shot up. Hot and slick, his tongue pulled across his chapped lips to retreat into his mouth. Her baby blues widened and a blush crept up from the collar of her flannel shirt to the tips of her ears. He wiped at his jaw and chin, scrubbing the back of his hand across his twitching mouth. _Gods, tell me I’m not leaking tea all over her doily littered nest._

“So.” _I don’t know how to fucking do small talk_. “You got a,” he looked around, grasping, “a package?” The little bird’s eyes lit up and she looked over her shoulder to the kitchen island. She nodded with an ‘mmhm.’ Stretching out her arm and setting her princess mug on the _damned coffee table_ Sandor had already greeted with the long bones of his shins. Stretching out her body, a blade of grass uncurling after a summer storm, Sansa glided over to the kitchen.

“Mr. Bolton brought it to me.” She glanced over at him and her mouth was pulled into a frown even though her voice had been light. “It isn’t from him, of course.” She hummed as she turned the package over, studying it. “It was wrongly delivered to his apartment. Oh!” The little bird got the box open with a streak of tape, her hand hovering in the air, the tape fluttering from her fingertips. “Oh, oh my gods, it is an Annie Rose!!” Sandor and Lady both shot up from the delicately carved and sand stuffed doll house excuse for a yellow couch in the middle of her living room. Lady ran to join her mistress dancing around the small kitchen. “Margaery sent me an actual Annie Rose!”

_What the fuck is an Annie Rose?_

Pink feet skipping here and there, arms holding a dress out before her, waltzing with the dress now, a crooked, crinkle eyed grin twisting her lips up. The little bird moved like a mirage.

“Hey, dancing queen?” Sandor laughed out, forgetting for a moment about the way his scars must be drawn in gruesome detail before Sansa. Sansa skidded to a halt, fuzzy socks causing her to slip. She righted herself quickly, head bent, cheeks crimson to the roots of her scarlet plumage. He hated to think he might have startled her, so he asked more quietly, “What’s an Annie Rose?”

“It’s an apology from Margaery.” Sandor nodded and grunted a ‘huh.’ “You see,” She was shuffling by Sandor towards her perch and the small couch, cheeks inflamed, “I walked in on Margaery and her new—well I don’t know if they are using labels yet, but anyway—.” Sansa say, dress draped over her lap, and Sandor took up his place on her yellow couch. While Sandor was taking a big gulp of tea, Sansa finally spit out, “I walked in when Margaery and her friend were having sex.” The tea and spittle misted through the air, catching the light and for a brief moment revealing a rainbow. Sandor choked out an apology but continued to hack and cough on the lemony liquid. “Yeah,” Sandor thought he could hear a nearly saucy smirk in her voice, “you think _you_ were surprised.” As Sandor recovered, Sansa hummed out, “So you have been so very helpful.” _This is it, this is when she says she doesn’t really want some uncouth dog spewing tea over her nest or hanging around her flat like a bad penny._ “You’ve been so helpful and I am really grateful.” _Here it comes_. His gut twisted and he tasted iron on his tongue. “Would you mind, I mean, I would love to thank you with a dinner.”

Sandor felt like he might be under water. _What?_

“I could cook for you, to thank you for all you’ve done for me.” The little bird chirped out merrily enough. “Is that too much? I know I might be over stepping—.”

“No, Little Bird,” _Sevenhells that nick name pops too easily from these wretched lips._ “I could eat dinner.” _Gods forbid she think you were able to speak in multiclausal sentences!_

“Oh, good, does end of the week work for you?” He stared at her dumbly, _as though I have any fucking plans_. “Of course, you probably have plans. I should have thought. So stupid, Sansa. Stupid, stupid, stupid.” She berated herself.

“No, no plans.” Sansa perked up at Sandor’s growled admission.

“End of the week then!” Sandor nodded in affirmation, stood, brushed himself off, and surveyed the apartment once more.

“I’ll be off, I think.” She looked saddened and he could not for the life of him figure out why. “You’ll be alright in your pretty little birdcage?” She quirked an eyebrow at him then nodded, knuckles whitening as her hands tightened around her princess mug. She walked him to the door and as he was about to escape into the hallway, she touched his arm, staying him.

“I forgot to ask before,” she smiled a sly fox glove slip of a smile, “did you enjoy the lemon meringue pie?” Sandor stepped into the hall, glad his face for a moment was hidden from her as he closed his eyes and took a couple deep breaths.

Memories flickered across his mind like frames from one of the old talkies: his tongue sliding heavily across the old pie pan bottom, a bit of meringue smeared across his cheek and in the stubble of his chin, the way his fingers pressed against the cool pan sides—how different it would feel if his fingers were pressed into the warm flesh of her thighs and his tongue was not flattening and lapping against the slippery glass but searching out the sweet and tangy— _._

_Get yourself together, you ugly son of a bitch._

Fast upon the heels of the blessedly quickly fleeing images, guilt and self-disgust washed over his mind.

“It was,” he shrugged, looking over his shoulder at her, “it was good.” She swallowed thickly and then blushing bent her head. “Good afternoon, Ms. Stark.” Sandor grated as he retreated down the hall. He did not stride quickly enough to escape the murmured ‘I’m so glad you liked it,’ though, and catch the way she eyed him. She looked like she knew exactly what a foul mouthed and lewd minded cur he truly was in his heart of hearts.

“Hope to see you tomorrow, Sandor!” Her lilt drifted to him as the door to the stairway closed with a resounding thud. _That’d be virtually a first, someone ‘hoping’ to see my ugly mug. And yet, they say, hope is a thing with feathers_. Sandor mused as he found himself once again loping down the stairs, fleeing the little bird’s apartment building. _For all that hope is only truly found in songs of knights and ladies fair, still, I hope to see you too_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We hope you all enjoyed that nice fat chapter  
> *slides over slice of lemon meringue pie*  
> While y'all are waiting for the next chapters to be posted, make sure you get out your umbrellas, wellies, and your rain coats because the forecast is sansan with a 90 percent chance for Cameoooooos!  
> So keep an eye out, buddies, its a gonna be pouring cameos any time now :)


	10. Don't Stop Believing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All intellectual and artistic property borrowed within this story belongs to the original author George R. R. Martin, Direwaggle42 and Jennilynn411 are just taking these characters and places for a spin like a very tightly packed Subaru pulling a small u-haul trailer, blaring Al Stewart's 'Year of the Cat,' down the interstate to a new apartment, in a new city, in a new state. 
> 
> *kicks cowboy boots up on window ledge*  
> I love the smell of Updates in the morning, it smells like Fictory.
> 
> *raises cup of coffee in cheers*  
> Thanks to our Loyal Readers and FancyKid (Best of Betas and soon to be the Best of Teachers tooooo)!
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy this chapter, it is lighter, a weeeee bit fluffier, and will have to hold y'all over until the weekend...

When questions or crises arise in your life and you need someone to sniff out the answers, Ask the Hound. If you want your weekly dose of honesty from each issue of Stars Over Essos, then check out Ask the Hound!

 

_Honesty is the only Policy_ , says the Hound. If you are brave enough to take a stark and honest look at your life then write in to SOE offices in The Building of the High Sparrow or email to [_AsktheHound@SOE.com_](mailto:AsktheHound@SOE.com) _._

 

 

Ask the Hound

 

 

*Ask the Hound is censored for excessive profanity and meets the Westeros “Iron Throne” Standards of Decency. Uncensored versions of Ask the Hound may be received through an Iron Price Membership which also includes access to Online SOE Archives, interviews with SOE writers, and exclusive sneak peaks into upcoming SOE events.*

 

 

 

Dear Hound,

I would describe myself as strong independent women who won’t take crap from anyone. I am proud to be a tomboy and I refuse to apologize for not being more ladylike. I also have been living with my boyfriend for a year now and he doesn’t seem to pick up on any of my signals. How can I tell him that I need some more romance in this relationship? I don’t want him to make fun of or anything but is it too much to ask that he bring flowers home once in a while?

~Adult Orphan~

 

Adult Orphan,

You sound like a real wolf bitch and I can respect that. The world needs more women who know exactly who they are and will not, as you say, ‘take crap from anyone.’ If your boyfriend is not picking up on your signals then you need to ask yourself a question. You say you “don’t want him to make fun” of you, are you the only nervous party in this relationship? Perhaps he is afraid that you will read attempts at overt romance as an attempt to repress your independent spirit. Or perhaps he is new to wooing a strong woman. But either way, if he cares for you as much as you clearly do for him, then he will wish to respect you and your boundaries first and foremost. The time for flashing signals and dropping hints is past. At the same time, romance is not a one way street. Try to do something like plan a romantic night for both of you and then choose a point in the evening where you will breech the subject of romance. If the boy is not able to speak openly and honestly about the state of your relationship, then I would seriously consider reevaluating your investment.

~Hound~

 

Dear Hound,

I have recently begun a relationship with the most beautiful girl in all of Westeros. She is smart, delicate and perfect. I am not very good with relationships, but I know that she is my soul mate. I am still worried that she will end up disappointing me, but I do realize she is all that matters now. How am I supposed to prove my undying love for her and that she is the only one for me? How can I take our relationship to the next level?

~Veldari~

 

Veldari,

“Taking the relationship to the next level” is always tricky. You need a clear evaluation of her feelings and her thoughts on what “the next level” entails before you decide to try to take her anywhere she might not wish to go. If, as you say, the relationship is young then you are both probably learning a lot about each other. Given time, I am sure it will become readily apparent to both of you whether you are a good fit. For now, focus on your present relationship status; save worrying about “taking it to the next level,” when you have ascertained exactly what you and she both want. In order to prove yourself to her, you will first need to prove to yourself that you are ready for this relationship, that you are willing to put in the time and effort (writing in to Ask the Hound is a fantastic first step), and that you are not just focusing on some fairytale ideal of what you think you want. Soul mates are all well and good in fiction but you are dealing with flesh and blood and not a figment of your imagination.

~Hound~

 

Dear Hound,

My fiancé and I are getting married soon and I can hardly wait! The only problem is my future husband has become a total groom-zilla. The closer the wedding gets the more he finds wrong. His anxiety level keeps building and it’ is driving me insane! How can I let him know that this is just a wedding? I am marrying him because I love him not because he worries about the seating list at the rehearsal dinner? Please help me before I smack him with my bridal bouquet!

~FancyKid~

 

FancyKid,

Sounds like your groom-zilla needs to sit his derriere down and have a cookie to go with that sour glass of lemonade he is making from your upcoming matrimony. It is natural and very common for all parties involved in a wedding to feel stress and to feel anxious. You are a long time reader, I know, and so I know you know the Ask the Hound creed. Do not Lie and Look ‘em Straight in the Eye. It is important at this time to make sure you are both getting breathers from the wedding chaos. Take your man out to eat, split a bottle of Dornish wine (like you wrote you used to a few months back), and _show_ and _tell_ him that you loved him when you were dating, you love him now you’re engaged, and you will love him once the vows are spoken. Look him straight in the eye and do not lie, FancyKid.

~Hound~

 

Dear Hound,

I spent over eight years of my life in an abusive relationship. When I finally got the courage to leave he almost killed me. Through continued therapy and the support of my loving friends and family I was able to move on from him. It has been over two years now since the attack and I feel like I am finally ready to start dating again. The only problem is that I am really scared of men in general. I want to take my next relationship slow but what if my next boyfriend doesn’t want to? What if whomever I choose next turns into a monster like the last guy?

~Ginger Pie~

 

Ginger Pie,

I am glad you were able to get out of that situation. I have written about abusive relationships before and I know that the first steps towards leaving are just a few in a long journey, a journey that you are still on. The healing process is one that never truly stops. However, you are making your way towards recovery at a healthy pace and you have sought out aid. It sounds to me as if the reason why you are considering dating again is because you have already met someone in which you are interested. If anyone that you approach or who approaches you cannot respect the speed with which you wish to move in a relationship (given that you wish to move fairly slowly) then that person is not worthy of your time or energies. The fear of men is understandable after all that you have been through. It has become an instinctual response to a perceived potential danger. What I would suggest for you is that you ask your therapist about gradual desensitization. Before you can combat your anxiety about the next guy “[turning] into a monster like the last guy,” you need to begin dealing with your more generalized issue of fearing men.

~Hound~

 

Dear Hound:

I recently began a torrid office affair with a guy at work. The problem is that we swore we wouldn’t become exclusive. Neither one of us wants to be tied down, but I don’t think he feels the same way anymore. He has been asking me to spend more time with him outside of our usual sexy trysts. I do not know what to do. If we do pursue a relationship won’t he just end up cheating on me? I have never been with a guy who didn’t cheat on me and I was hoping to avoid falling into the same old pattern. What am I supposed to do?

~Luv2Sing~

 

Luv2Sing,

It sounds like your relationship was originally based solely on both of your shared physical attraction. For this reason, communication is clearly something you both need to work on. You “think” he wishes to become exclusive, well, you will never know unless you buckle down and ask him. There are other issues at bay, here as well. You assume he will cheat on you. This assumption is based on past experience. Have you talked to your bang-buddy about your past relationships and your past experiences with men? Have you had an open line of communication and good verbal rapport within your past relationships? If not, now is the time to break that pattern. Break that pattern and I think many of the answers you seek will become clear.

~Hound~

 

Dear Hound:

My boyfriend is moving back into town and we had planned on living together as soon as he does. We have been together for more than five years and he is my whole world. However my current roommate is also the sweetest girl I have ever known. She has a really bad track record with men and the other night she let a total psychopath into our home. She was really drunk and he didn’t do anything to her thankfully but I worry about her decision making process. She is like a sister to me and I would do anything for her. How can I move in with my boyfriend if it means she won’t be safe? What can I do?

~The Cake Conundrum~

 

The Cake Conundrum,

First, you cannot always keep those you love safe or even close to you. Second, you worry about her ability to make decisions, but at the end of the day it is her life to live, not yours. You will need to respect some of the decisions she makes and take the ones that worry you in stride. Beyond speaking openly with her about her choices there is little you can do to protect your friend. If she is truly in some kind of danger then you need to contact the KLPD and let the authorities handle the situation. I would advise making your move but not cutting yourself off from your friend. Staying in communication with her is key as is being honest. Honesty is the best policy, as the old saying goes.

~Hound~

 

Dear Hound:

The last time I wrote in you gave me the best advice of my life. I am hoping you will once again answer the desperate pleas of mine. I am dating sisters, we know that our relationship would be frowned upon in public but we are quite happy together. The girls are successful and wealthy and I am not. They give me lavish gifts and I feel bad because I cannot return the favor. I have never been happier they are both wonderful and I don’t want my insecurities to get in the way. How do I cope with the fact that they take care of me when society tells me it should be the other way around?

~Porkledpick~

 

Porkledpick,

How can you cope with the fact that they take care of you? The first thing you need to begin to recognize is that society has often gotten it wrong. Still, you can explain to the sisters how the “lavish gifts” make you feel. You can also try to do things for them that make them happy. Perhaps you cannot afford to take them out to the hottest club and restaurant, Oloi 5, but your actions can sometimes speak louder than words. Finally, screw Society. I’ve said it before and I will say it again. Screw societal expectations. If you and the sisters are not harming anyone and you are both happy and healthy then society can screw itself.

~Hound~

 

Dear Hound,

I am new to Kings Landing and I am looking for love. I have this terrible habit of falling for older serious men. I just got a job transfer and I really want this to be a fresh start for me. I want to date a funny guy who is smart and has a good sense of humor. Do they even exist? Where does a girl go to meet such a guy in this city?

~Veridissmina~

 

Veridissmina,

Funny and honest guys are a rare breed nowadays. Still, if you keep your eyes open you may find just the right fellow. But don’t be afraid to look where you least expect. Tall, short, younger, older, there are a million men in the city and more. Perhaps you should begin by cultivating relationships at your place of work. You’re new to the city and work is a great place to make connections. Sometimes connections will even make themselves. If you meet someone in your work place and are then introduced to their friend circle then you are certain to meet someone eventually.

~Hound~

 

Dear Hound,

I work with my crush. He is tall good looking and wonderful to be around. He is everything I am not and that hurts. I know he’s in a relationship, but I don’t really know whom he’s with. All I know is that he is terribly unhappy. Every time she calls I can hear her screaming at him and calling him obscenities. Everyone can tell he is miserable except him. I want him to know that I would never treat him that way but he only sees me as a friend. How can I make him realize that I could be the woman of his dreams if he’d just give me a chance?

~Little Raspberry~

 

Little Raspberry,

Your crush has issues that he needs to work through before he can be in a healthy relationship (whether that is with you or not). Before he could realize that you “could be the woman of his dreams,” he will need to recognize his self-worth. And so do you. Your self-worth does not depend on whether you are as tall or good looking as you crush. You have self-worth because you are a living breathing person. I would advise, before you try to woo your man, beginning a regimen of positive self-affirmation. Then look to your crush and recognize that he may never see you as more than a friend and that is not the end of the world. If you have feelings for him then all you can do at the moment is continue to support him as a friend. He does not owe you a relationship but you owe it to yourself to try to regain your confidence and self-worth.

~Hound~

 

Dear Hound,

I feel like work is getting in the way of my love life. At night I have dreams of battling great copy machines and during the day I battle giant copy machines. My girlfriend is really sweet but I know she is annoyed that I never have any time for her. She tells me that when I come home covered in toner it kills the mood. How can I leave my work problems at work and just focus on her when I get home?

~Three Paws~

 

Three Paws,

Separating work from the rest of one’s life is important for overall health and happiness. At the same time, if you take pride in your work then that is not shameful, and if you are having problems at work then you will need an outlet for your feelings about these problems. Your girlfriend is opening up a line of communication to you when she discusses the fact that toner kills the mood. Do not let that line go to waste. Take or make the next opportunity to speak on this matter and address it head on. Try to pay attention and sniff out what _does_ put her in the mood. Staying alert to her needs (as well as your own) is important. As for leaving your work problems at work and “just [focusing] on her,” you should not feel obligated to create such a drastic schism in your life. Even with a healthy separation of work and home or social life there will be some lap over. If you do not feel comfortable being open and honest with her about problems you have at work then how will you be able to be open and honest with her about the problems you are experiencing in your relationship? Try to make extra time for the both of you but do not burry your “giant copy machine” sized work issues.

~Hound~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Direwaggle42 and Jennilynn411 are not healthcare professionals, licensed therapists, or actual advice columnists.  
> Please take all questions and answers with a grain of salt and a pinch of forgiveness if we misspoke.  
> *Direwaggle42 and Jennilynn411 step into a spot light on stage*  
> *clear throats dramatically*
> 
> If we shadow-writers have offended,  
> think but this and all in mended,  
> that you have but stumbled here,  
> and blame these visions on the beer
> 
> *Direwaggle42 and Jennilynn411 exit, pursued by a bear*


	11. Sixteen Tons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sixteen Tons by Tennessee Ernie Ford was the inspiration for this chapter's title.
> 
> As always, all artist and intellectual property borrowed within this story belongs to the original author, George R. R. Martin. 
> 
> Jennilynn411 and Direwaggle42 are just taking these characters and places for a spin, like a small u haul on illl repaired mountain roads to another state. The windows are down, the music is blasting, and the cat is yowlin' along to Electric Light Orchestra.
> 
> Hats and cats off to Ze Great One, FancyKid, for all her help with this chapter! 
> 
> Over a hundred Kudos!! Hats and cats off to all of you, you lovely little lemon drops ;)
> 
> Hope you all enjoy the new and familiar povs :)
> 
> *sneaks off to drink some lemonade in the heat of the city morning air*

Dany sat in the top floor conference room of The Building of the High Sparrow. She watched as her hands glided delicately over the beautiful weirwood table. Drogo had this table personally commissioned right before he died. _My Sun and Stars am I keeping your memory alive?_ Dany shook away the painful memory of her beloved husband. Thirty-five was too young to be a widow and it was certainly too young to be CEO of the most popular fashion magazine in all of Westeros. She gazed her reflection on the table. Her silvery blond hair was pulled into a tight bun and her amethyst eyes looked determined. _I am Dany Stormborn I can do this._ She smiled as the conference room began to fill with greatest minds in her company. Varys, Oberyn Martell, Tyrion Lannister, Petyr Baelish, Lady Clara, Ellaria Sand, Marya Seaworth and now Shae Greenfork. These good people were more than mere members of her board, they were also her trusted advisors and mentors. The transition from being an unknown to full-blown CEO hadn’t been smooth. She needed every single one of them.

“Let’s begin this meeting shall we?” Dany spoke with perfect authority as she sat at the head of the table her hands clasped in her lap, trembling slightly. Never show your weakness, that’s what Sandor taught me. She looked around at the table to ensure that everyone was paying attention. She rolled her eyes as she noticed that Oberyn was playing an intense game of Angry Chicken on his phone. “Oberyn.” She cleared her throat before she continued. “You own 51% of this magazine. Now I realize you have never read a single issue but could you at least pretend to be interested.” Raising one eyebrow she looked over to Ellaria, his lover for help. Ellaria was wearing an immaculate orange dress that made her skin glow and Dany couldn’t help but feel a tad bit jealous. _I wish I could wear orange, I love orange. I bet she is even wearing an Annie Rose original._ Without missing a beat Ellaria snatched Oberyn’s phone away and deposited it down her dress, a smirk proudly displayed on her face.

Oberyn snapped back to attention at once flashing his famous Dornish smile that drove all the office girls crazy, _the office boys as well._ He looked over at his paramour before leaning in and whispering loudly. “I will get that phone back.” Dany prayed that he would restrain himself and not retrieve it now. Oberyn then turned his full attention back to Dany. “Ladies and gentleman, may the meeting of the small council now commence!” His hands flourished in a dramatic fashion and Dany couldn’t help but smile at him. She never could stay mad that cocky Dornish face. _That’s why he gets away with everything I suppose._ Oberyn Martell had saved her company from the great Bolton takeover a few years back and they both knew that now he could get away with just about anything.

Dany, still shaking her head at Oberyn, called attention to the itemized agenda that was carefully laid out in front of the board members and sighed. Number one on the agenda was particularly troubling. She cleared her throat before asking Shae if she would read today’s list. Shae had recently transferred from their international offices in Lorath. She had come highly recommended and Danny was impressed with both her resume and her drive. Everyone in that room knew that Mrs. Stormborn head CEO of Stars Over Essos, wasn’t an easy women to impress. Mrs. Greenfork was now here to oversee all office interns. The world of fashion was fast paced, brutal and left no room for error. The interns needed guidance through this murky world and she knew that Shae was just the woman to do it.

Shae cleared her throat her lovely accent filled the room. “Number One, Sansa Stark and the office shredder.” She seemed puzzled by the sentence on the paper and Dany couldn’t blame her. The whole event had been confusing to her as well. She had reviewed the security footage with Sandor over a dozen times and she could _still_ not figure out how Sansa’s skirt wound up in that shredder. _That freak Ramsay was blocking the camera._ Thankfully, Sandor had spoken up while they were reviewing the tapes together late one evening. He was genuinely worried about Sansa and Dany was touched. _That Stark girl had better be kind to him._ Sandor was able, however, to shed light on what brief information he had gleamed from Miss Stark. After a lengthy conversation with the head of HR, Dany was more upset than ever with this vile Ramsay Snow. Whatever her feelings on the matter were, Sandors feelings had surpassed them.

Dany looked around the table and realized while she had been quietly thinking on the ‘shredder incident’ as it was being called, the conference room had descended into chaos. Loud arguments about what to do next filled the air and multiple conversations were taking place. Mr. Baelish was sitting agitated in his chair arguing with Varys about how Sansa had almost been killed by that _damned shredder_ and was _certainly_ accosted by Ramsay _. He wasn’t wrong about that. Thank the Gods Sandor had been there._ Varys on the other hand was countering that argument with one of his own stating that Sansa had no right to be in The Dungeon in the first place. _Also a valid point._ Across from them Oberyn was deep in conversation with his long-time lover about how he would read this magazine he owned just as soon as it embraced its full potential and went fully nude. _Not on your life Martell, keep trying though._ Ellaria had a rebuttal ready for every point he made, laughing all the while at his antics. Next to Petyr she noticed Tyrion was flirting shamelessly with Mrs. Clara causing her pregnant friend to blush profusely. Mrs. Seaworth who sat closest to Dany was trying in vain to reign in all the conversations that had begun. _She is my rock._ Shae just sat still watching it all and soaking everything in. Suddenly her assistant, Jorah, came rushing in out of breath to hand Mrs. Clara a large lemon frosted cookie. Dany hadn’t yet said a word and just read the scene displayed in front of her. _So this is my wise council?_

Mrs. Clara stood abruptly knocking her chair back and the room fell silent. “What happened to Sansa Stark was an apparent accident.” The head of H.R was just as frustrated as Dany. She took a big bite of the cookie before continuing “Mr. Snow touched Miss Stark without her permission or consent. If you would have reviewed the tapes as I have you would see tremendous fear in that poor girls face.” She paused to rub her ever-swelling belly before she continued. “I am no fool. I would have fired Ramsay on the spot but he filled a sexual harassment complaint against Sansa before I could get rid of him.” With that she sat back down in the chair Jorah had corrected for her, looking defeated. Everyone at the table looked absolutely sickened to hear the news. Mrs. Clara locked eyes with Dany. They had already had this conversation but the rest of the board had yet to hear it.

“What are you planning to do about it?” Petyr almost spat that last part out. Dany watched with amusement as Mrs. Clara’s eyes narrowed at the well-dressed photographer.

“I can’t do anything about it Petyr. My hands on the matter are tied.” She placed the cookie down on the table and cocked her head at him. “Do you honestly think I believed one single lie that dripped out of his ugly ferret face?” _Did my head of H.R just call Ramsay Snow a ferret face?_ Dany was going to let that slide because she happened to agree and she had the distinct impression every single person in that conference room felt the same way.

Dany, spoke up now with a crisp and clear voice. She felt everyone’s eyes fall instantly on her. “What we do know, is that Miss Stark was left half naked, afraid and traumatized in a room full of men and a few women. Through a combination of fear and anxiety our young intern passed out.” Dany was still furious about what had happened to Sansa and it was starting to show. _No woman should be afraid to come to work._ She could feel her voice getting louder as she continued. “Varys has offered to host a class on sexual harassment and Shae our newest board member has consented to help him. _Everyone_ who was in the Dungeon that day will be required to attend, no exceptions.” She then turned her focus to the far end of the table where a very upset Petyr Baelish and a confused Tyrion Lannister were sitting.

 

 

 

Tyrion skipped past the word ‘glowing’ and went straight to ‘radiant’.

Watching Lady Clara blush straight to the roots of her ‘luscious’ and ‘truly beautiful’ hair was well worth every jape he would endure from that _silly old bear_ later. The room was in a kind of quiet chaos now. Voices were raised but raised like stage whispers, where every single person could hear every single word spoken, but it was as if they were meant to play along and pretend they could not. _Well, except for Little Finger._ Little Finger, among others at the office who should remain nameless and char broiled, had taken a shine to Sansa. What the nature of Little Finger’s interests were, beyond her remarkable similarity to ‘Ask the Cat’ Catelyn Stark, Tyrion could not tell. Now the lean man in the blue and maroon pinstripe suit was near squawking at the Spider.

“I’m sorry, Lovely Lady Clara, what were you saying, my dear?” Mrs. Clara looked up to find Tyrion flashing one of his patented Lannister smiles. Tyrion’s smile faltered a jot as Jorah leapt forward from the doorway, a frosted lemon cookie clutched like a sacred sacrifice for the Seven. Letting her head follow her nose with a sniff and a twist, Mrs. Clara’s eyes widened then narrowed on Jorah. ‘Dance for me bear’, her eyes seemed to say and a small shiver scampered down Tyrion’s even shorter spine. _Jorah is in the bear pit now and the maiden fair is anything but forgiving. Stupid old bear._ Tyrion began to open his mouth to continue lavishing the gleaming specimen of motherhood who outshined the maiden herself, but Mrs. Clara had other plans. The woman stood up as if she might press the world down with just the bend of her surely swollen knees. Jorah’s nimble hands righted the toppled chair, his face a mask of terror and servitude.

“What happened to Ms. Stark was an apparent accident.” Tyrion did not need to hear the rest. He knew the story all too well, having witness the aftermath first hand. Clegane looked even more ready to throttle someone than usual. _And yet_ , Tyrion reflected, _when it comes to Sansa Stark the big man clearly has a soft spot._ Tyrion had not seen Sansa looked so frightened, so defeated or fearful, since he had driven seven hells be damned to the King’s Landing Memorial Hospital that fateful evening all those years ago. _All those years, a meager handful to my life and yet it must seem like yesterday to the eldest Stark girl._ Tyrion shuddered. She looked so pale, not as she was—porcelain hardened and refined by northern winters—but cracked and broken, like a cheap vase some careless tourist might buy from a market stall only to throw away a year later. He remembered the IVs in her arms and the bandages about her torso, showing under the too thin and too stiff hospital garment. Most off all Tyrion remembered her eyes. Like looking into the sea after a storm and not a sign of land in sight. He hated to see her look so lost and so alone.

Petyr was at it again, trying to throw his meager weight around. All cuff tug and righteous indignation, Petyr was signing himself up for the wrong rodeo.

“What are you planning to do about it?” The question was directed to Mrs. Clara, who answered it in kind, but Tyrion looked to Dany and Dany’s newest acquisition. _Acquisition is the wrong word. This funny, smart, foreign beauty is far too interesting to be summed up with such an objectifying word as ‘acquisition.’_

Tyrion sighed, _great, I probably sound like what the Hound does when he thinks of his ‘Little Bird.’_ Tyrion had never thought he might compare himself to the towering behemoth of pent up anger who, Tyrion had to grant Clegane this, was struggling to deal with the many, dark, and terrifying facets of a youth unlived. Yet here he was, thinking about how he, Clegane, and Jorah should really start a club: The Emotionally Crippled Bastards and Broken Cups Drinking Club. _I’ll work on the title and propose the idea to Teddy first—maybe I can get Bronn on board too._

Shae’s eyes shot down the table to Tyrion’s and for a moment he thought his heart stopped. _You’re not a green boy, man, why are you frightened of a pair of brown eyes._ Then Tyrion realized Dany had just said his name. _Shit, this is why I should bloody listen at these small council meetings_. Tyrion smiled with little understanding in his eyes and raised an eyebrow at Dany.

“Yes that means even you, Mr. Lannister and Mr. Baelish.” Dany spoke evenly by way of a silent reprimand. “Anyone within the confines of the Dungeon on that day will be required to report to Varys and Shae’s Sexual Harassment seminar.” _Oh, let my short life end now_ , Tyrion internally bemoaned, _I had such high hopes of dying in the arms of a foreign beauty—both of us well sated, well mated, and well and truly fucked—but I am going to die of boredom instead!_

“This is outrageous!” Little Finger spluttered. Palms flat against the table top and arms splayed wide, Little Finger looked like a mockingbird with its feathers puffed out, pointy beak for gouging open in an angry little frown.

Instead of answering him, Dany looked calmly back, folding her well-tanned arms, eyes of amethyst hard as steel. _Mess with the Dragon, Little Finger, you’re going to be burned._ Tyrion would have laughed at the way Little Finger was beginning to crumple even as he stood stock still, but he was still letting the words the SOE CEO had just spoken loop through his mind.

Tyrion could feel his eyebrows drawing together and his own lips turning down in a rusty expression of confusion. Mrs. Clara was balling up the napkin that Jorah had delivered the cookie on— _might as well be a silver platter with the reverent way old Teddy was carrying it_ —and was standing again, one hand carefully holding her belly unconsciously.

“I see nothing ‘outrageous’ about having a better educated and aware staff, _Mr. Baelish_.” Ms. Clara wielded her niceties like a whip. And everyone could feel that lash. Tyrion caught a glimpse, a flash of white, in the corner of his eye, and he turned his torso subtly to take in the vision of Shae smirking. Like some kind of exotic dessert fox, Shae was quietly surveying Little Finger as he flexed his hands, drawing his thin talons back into fists, then the man collapsed into his chair.

Tyrion caught Shae’s eyes and gathered his courage. Dany was running through the last few items on the agenda and Tyrion could almost taste the freedom of the hallway. Even if the freedom just tasted like cold break room coffee and stale mini muffins, Tyrion would not complain. _Not today anyway_. Raising one brow over nearly black eye, Tyrion tilted his head ever so slightly towards the door. _Seven, I know I am not your… most faithful… or dutiful… or reverent follower, but hear me now; I’ll turn over my whoring and drinking ways, just let this lass…_ Tyrion did not even know how to finish the small prayer. What he wanted was simply a chance, but what he might promise the gods he did not know if he could give. _Stogy old men and women and silly young slips of teenagers, these were the great and powerful deities who decide our destinies?_ Tyrion took a deep breath, Dany was beginning to wrap up the meeting in truth now. _No,_ Tyrion thought at last, _we each make our own destiny_.

Shae gave him a quick little smile, fleeting like a starling, and nodded more decidedly towards the door. Tyrion’s heart soared.

“Dany,” Tyrion called out to his brilliant boss. She hummed out a slightly exasperated ‘yes, Tyrion,’ at which he chose to laugh. “Well, Dany, I would just like to say that I am thrilled,” _if the definition of thrilled has changed drastically since the last time I cracked a dictionary, of course_ , “to be attending Ms. Greenfork’s seminar.” He beamed up at Dany who squinted down at him, then slowly slid her eyes over to Shae and back to him as if to say 'I’m sure you are, big fella'. Tyrion let his grin widen until he felt like his face might crack. Dany shook her head, rolled her amethyst eyes, and shaking her head, walked away.

Shae was hovering by the door, she and he were the last to leave. One slender finger was twirl through a dark curl and Tyrion thought how he would love to let those locks twirl around his own stunted fingers.

“Ms. Greenfork—,” Tyrion began.

“Shae, please, Mr. Lannister.” Shae gave him a smile somewhere between a quiet grin and an outright laugh. _Courage, man._

“Tyrion then, Shae.” Tyrion smiled his Lannister smile, _worth more than all the gold in Casterly rock_. “After all, turn around is fair play.” Shae glanced behind her and Tyrion wondered if the idiom had shot over her head. To Tyrion’s amusement and amazement, Shae spun in a small circle, dark hair fluttering with the edges of her lovely outfit. Then she bent slightly at the waist and gave him a head titled, eye lash fluttering, sexy little half smirk.

“What if I don’t want to play fair?” Shae said over her shoulder, slipping through the doorway and letting her hand trail over the glass and wood door.

“Then,” Tyrion grabbed at the first words that came to mind, “let me buy you a cup of cold coffee in the break room.” He cursed his tongue for a traitor. Her laugh was like a champagne flute being dropped, the breaking of the glass beautiful though as the shattered pieces seemed to make Tyrion’s own shattered heart whole again. _Even if just for an afternoon, just for a day, I can pretend that this will last._ Tyrion watched her nod, holding his heart in the palm of her hand.

“Alright,” she spoke breathily, her accent adding a husky hue to her words. “Buy me a ‘cold cup of coffee in the break room’, Tyrion.” She tilted her head down the hall towards the break room. “You lead the way, I’ll follow.” _No, I’ll follow you wherever you let me._

Tyrion stepped by her, throwing back his shoulders slightly, and headed to the stuffy break room, the soft sound of Shae’s footsteps echoing the steady throb and thrum of his heart. In his chest, he felt a strange creature raising its head, slowly unfurling its dusty wings. _What could that be?_ Tyrion wondered as his stomach churned but his pulse felt steady and true. _Hope,_ breathed a quiet little voice, like what he thought maybe his mother would have sounded like if she had not died bloody and crying in a hospital bed, country maesters too little too late. _That is what Hope feels like._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Direwaggle42 is undergoing technical difficulties (also known as a "new apartment" with "no Internet"... the internets are to be set up soon... gawds, we hope soon)
> 
> She will be holding down a bar stool for as long as she may at a nearby Star of the Bucks, but ya know, Direwaggles can only consume so much caffeine before they start mutter mooore audibly to themselves and glaring at and baring territorial teeth at passing teenieboppers. 
> 
> Her replies may therefore be... staggered.. apologies, lovely Lemon Drops!


	12. Private Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go another creepy chapter brought to you by Hall & Oats. Sorry...Not Sorry…My little lemon drops I have gone and ruined yet ANOTHER beloved song by pointing out it's stalkery lyrics. Hold your lemons close dear readers for the chapter is dark and full of terrors.

You fluff your pillow stretch your _naked_ body before you climb into bed. This week had been long and tedious and the only thing that kept you going were thoughts of _her._ You focus your attention to the laptop open on your bed. You click to change the various camera angles around her apartment until you find the one hidden in her alarm clock. Your Goddess is sound asleep on her stomach. She looks so _peaceful_ , so _perfect_. You feel a twinge of disappointment as you realize she prefers to sleep on her stomach. It will not be easy to _retrain_ her to sleep on her back as princesses are _supposed_ to. You frown deeply when you realize she is wearing those silly pajamas with little lemons on them _again_. She should be wearing silk and lace or _nothing_ at all. This is how you fall asleep every night now, your laptop focused on Sansa’s face; you can just imagine her _naked_ body sleeping beside you. What you wouldn’t give to touch her. Sansa needs you.

_She belongs to_ _you._

You were lucky that _massive_ wolf Sansa insisted on keeping around hadn’t eaten the Kettleblack brothers. They had moved into her apartment like shadows while she took that _beast_ on a walk. The entire apartment had been wired, for both sound and picture. _Good_ , you felt better knowing you could now keep her safe, from all the unsavory characters of the world. Kings Landing was _full_ of creeps who would just _love_ to harm _your_ Goddess. After the cameras were installed and they had hacked into her laptop and then they left as quietly as they had come. The _incident_ had occurred when the brothers had run into Sansa and that _wolf_ in that stair well. That mangy dog had barked so ferociously at them that the trio had immediately left the stairwell and took the elevator. This was a deviation of the plan as the elevator had cameras, but they all kept their heads down. You were _furious_ with the brothers for the deviation _but_ they did bring you the souvenir that you so craved. You now held her _hairbrush_ in your hands _breathing_ in the scent of her luxurious hair. It was a simple store bought green brush but it was worth more than _diamonds_ in your eyes. You imagined the day you could brush her hair long fiery _beautiful_ locks. She would be so thankful. She would be so _grateful_. Sansa needs _you_.

_She belongs to you._

Sansa had been so shaken up when she got back from the stairwell that at first you were confident she wouldn’t suspect a thing. But that damned dog kept sniffing and barking at all the places the cameras were installed. That creature had smelled the Kettleblack brothers. You would have had the dog killed for her insolence, but even you had to admit she was the best protection sweet Sansa had. _Except for you of course._ What you did not expect was that Sansa was completely in sync with her dog. She pulled out the bat that was lying next to the door and checked all the rooms carefully. She paused in the bathroom and that is when she made the most _unexpected_ call. The dog was on edge and so was she. You felt bad for her; _you didn’t mean to upset her so_. This was after all for her protection. You would simply explain your actions later. Sansa needs _you._

_She belongs to you._

When Tyrion Lannister came over with his niece and ward Myrcella you thought you had seen everything. But then Bronn walked in. _Bronn Blackwater_ was a friend of _Sandor Fucking Clegane._ You didn’t want anyone to suspect what had taken place and for a moment you were fearful. _Only for a moment._ Your Goddess had refused to let Bronn in at first but Tyrion had talked her into it. _Damn_ that demon monkey. _Damn him._ The men went over the entire apartment while Sansa cried into Myrcella’s arms. Her dog was guarding them both on the bed. Her so-called heroes came up empty _of course._ You knew the reason why Sansa hadn’t called the police to report an _apparent_ break in. After her father’s murder, Boros Blount had taken over as police chief. _Gods help us all with that Lannister lackey in charge._ You felt disappointed in her that she hadn’t called _you_ for help, but then you realized she didn’t have your number. _How thoughtless of you._ Sansa needs you.

_She belongs to you._

You looked at the screen and saw that Sansa was tossing and turning. She was having _another_ nightmare. You will chase away all her bad dreams one day. You are a knight and she is your lady. She will fall asleep _naked_ in your arms and you will stroke her hair. You _will_ do anything to protect your Goddess, _anything._ Tomorrow she was supposed to be feeding that _brute_ Clegane. _He’s probably the reason she is having the nightmares._ You are _angry_ with Clegane for giving Sansa nightmares. A lesser man would be worried about his _beloved_ making dinner for another man. But you are not a lesser man you are a great man. You have been busy making sure tomorrow would be _memorable_ for the both of them. You smile and realize you can’t wait to see everything unfold. You set your alarm on your phone for tomorrow morning 6:30 AM. Her time in the shower was a sacred time for both of you and you wouldn’t miss it. It was where she was most vulnerable, but you would watch over her and keep her safe. Sansa needs _you._

_She belongs to you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Paranoid yet dear reader? You should be..... You.Should.Be. Who is the stalker? Will Hotpie EVER get back his antique pie pan? What’s going to happen? Find the answers to some of these questions on Friday!


	13. Mama Told Me Not To Come

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gather round our Little Lemon Drops for the chapter you have all been waiting for. Date Night Part 1! Buckle up dear readers it's going to be a bumpy ride.

Sansa was a nervous ball of energy. She had spent all week preparing for her dinner with Sandor Clegane. She surveyed the dinner once more before she left to change; leaving Hotpie to run the kitchen. He had been so depressed this week and she couldn’t tell if it was because it of the loss of his beloved pie pan or the fact that Mycha would not be back until next week. Perhaps it was simply a combination of the two. Hopefully he will cheer up tonight once he meets Sandor and discovers he is not in fact a gym teacher. The dinner she worked all day on included lemon chicken, grilled asparagus with hollandaise sauce, garlic mashed potatoes, homemade rolls, glazed roasted carrots and a simple garden salad. For dessert they would be enjoying her roommates specialty a chocolate lava cake. Sansa froze on the way to her room caught off guard by a disastrous thought. _Gods! What if Sandor hates chicken? What if he’s a vegan and is deeply offended by the mere presence of meat?_ Sansa was so worried about making this date perfect she had forgot to ask him what his favorite food was. _Stupid Sansa._

An hour later Sansa stepped in front of the floor length mirror of her room to survey her latest ensemble. She had chosen to go with a soft blue dress that fell to her mid calves and had long delicate embroidered sleeves. The dress featured a scooped neck that showed just a _hint_ of cleavage but nothing that would show the scars. She pulled her hair back into a loose bun allowing a few red curls to escape. She completed the look by pulling on a silver necklace with a bird charm on it. Sansa couldn’t hide the smirk that appeared when she thought of her new nickname. She sat down at her vanity to apply her makeup, while mulling over her week. Sandor had been so sweet to her at work she couldn’t believe her luck. Every morning when she arrived he would meet her in the stairwell and walk her down to the Intern Offices in the basement. They both seemed to walk in a comfortable silence neither saying much but simply enjoying the moment. Margaery had whispered to her that everyone at work was practically buzzing about them. _So what?_ Sansa never cared for idle gossip; all she really cared about was working hard and making a name for herself.

She vaguely wondered if Sandor was as nervous for this date as she was. All in all it had been an interesting week. An office shredder _had_ almost killed her, Ramsay the Freak of Nature, had touched her. _I ended up washing my shirt five times because of him._ She had fainted half naked and Sandor ended up escorting her home like a massive bodyguard. Back at work she was being blamed for the mandatory sexual harassment seminar and now people treated her as if she has a contagious case of Grey Scale. _At least Lommy and Missandei still talk to me, Margaery just wants to gossip._ Before she wasted anymore time worrying about work she heard a loud whistle come from the doorway and she turned in chair as Hotpie and Lady waltzed into her room. She felt her cheeks flush with the praise as she smoothed her dress after standing. Sansa smiled as Lady padded over to her mistress and licked her hand. She bent down and kissed her lovely husky whispering, “You will always be my favorite girl.” Lady wagged her tail in agreement.

“My dear, you look lovely.” Hotpie spun Sansa around in a circle. “You are going to knock the socks of this mystery man.” She hugged her roommate fiercely in gratitude for the kind words. He was more then her roommate he was a surrogate brother and best friend.

“Hotpie, what if he doesn’t like the food? What if he’s not even interested in me?” She looked into her roommate’s eyes and could feel her own blue eyes starting to puddle. Her face clouded with worry and she bit her lower lip.

“Sansa!” He looked sternly back at her. “You are just nervous because you haven’t been on a date in two years. He would either have to be happily married; a walking talking wight or he’s gay. Those are the only reasons he would have not to be interested in a girl as sweet and lovely as you.” Lady seemed to harrumph in agreement and Sansa smiled. Hotpie kissed her on her forehead and went to retrieve her favorite fragrance Pinkmaiden from her vanity. After a gentle dab behind the ears, on top of her head and in her cleavage she was at last ready. She heard a knock on her door and her stomach filled with butterflies. Hotpie held out his arm for her to link with and he bowed dramatically. “After you my lady,” They both laughed as Lady pranced out of the room head held high in front of them.

Hotpie opened the opened the front door and froze. “You!” He was beginning to stammer and his eyes narrowed at Sandor. “You, you stole my pie pan!” He pointed a threatening finger into Sandor’s face and Sansa watched in amusement as Sandor held out the antique pie pan like a peace offering. With surprisingly fast reflexes Hotpie grabbed the pan from out of Sandor’s hand before flashing him a dazzling smile. Only then did her roommate step back to allow Sandor inside the apartment. “So you’re THE Sandor.” He chuckled as he helped Sandor take off his leather jacket. “Sansa hasn’t stopped talking about you all week, well you and your muscles that is.” Sansa didn’t have to see a mirror to know she was bright red. _Was Sandor blushing as well?_

“I didn’t know your boyfriend would be joining us.” Sandor grumbled out. He hadn’t moved from the door or taken his piercing gaze off of her. _What is he talking about? What boyfriend?_

Hotpie just laughed. “Oh he’s not, Mycah is still on Tour in Lannisport. I don’t expect him back until next week sadly.” Her roommate continued talking as he floated away into the kitchen. “Don’t mind me kids, I’m just going to check on the food then I’ll just pop off to a movie. I’ll be back in about three hours and I do not want to walk into an embarrassing scene.” Sansa vaguely wondered how many times Sandor had seen her when she wasn’t blushing. _Warrior give me strength_. As if he was suddenly struck by lightning Sandor suddenly jolted forward and made his way to the couch. Sansa couldn’t help but appreciate his tight black t-shirt that hugged those very muscles her roommate had so graciously pointed out. _Damn it Hotpie, now I can’t look away_. While Sansa stood ogling Sandor and his perfectly chiseled physique, Lady waltzed over to her favorite playmate tail wagging with a squeaky ball in her mouth. Sandor smiled and rubbed her ears affectionately.

Sansa gave them both a warm smile and went to join the pair on the couch. “You look real nice Little Bird.” Sandor’s voice rumbled forth like rocks before the slide. She blushed before she returned the compliment her eyes once again flitting toward his muscled arms. “My eyes are up here you know.” Sansa immediately sat upright and looked Sandor strait in the eyes while blushing like a schoolgirl. Sandor just laughed at her guilty expression and soon she was laughing right along with him. She leaned into him and for just a second she felt nothing but peace and happiness. Lady brought over a rope toy and they all played a gentle game of tug-of-war. Sansa was so caught up in the moment she didn’t even see Hotpie standing in front of her, hands on his hips and an eye brow raised.

“Dinner is served my anxious love birds.” He stated playfully and Sansa smiled up at him. He smiled back as he held out his hand to help her rise. Hotpie wandered off again to the kitchen as Sansa walked toward the table. She thought she noticed Hotpie lean in and whisper something in Sandor’s good ear before he had disappeared but she couldn’t be sure. Sandor seemed to stiffen momentarily before he rose and pulled out her chair. _Always the gentleman_. Sandor sat down next to her, their knees gently brushing. Sansa almost jumped as she felt jolts of energy course through her body at the contact. _Did he feel that too?_ She cleared her throat and put her cloth napkin on her lap. Hotpie suddenly reappeared carrying the roasted lemon chicken. He set it down next to the mashed potatoes winked at them both and disappeared again.

“I hope you like chicken Sandor. I apologize for not asking you earlier what you preferred for our date.” Apparently her mouth had a mind of its own for it kept on spewing out small talk in the most rushed and unladylike manner. “Winter is coming you know. I bet you’re glad you have such a nice warm coat.” _Weather, I am actually talking about the weather. Stop speaking Sansa before you embarrass yourself further._ She took a sip of Dornish Red and stared at her lap. He was just staring at her like she had two heads. _Why is dating so hard?_

“This is a date? Sansa quickly looked up into Sandor’s face. “Hells girl I thought you were just making me dinner as a thank you.” Sansa could feel her eyes flash instantly with pain. Her worst nightmare was unfolding in front of her and if she wasn’t careful this could trigger yet another panic attack. She grasped her cloth napkin and began to furiously wring it in her nervous hands.

“I’m sorry.” Sansa blurted out a lame apology right before she took a large gulp of wine, finishing it. “Sandor, I am so, so sorry.” What could she do? What could she say to make this right? She poured herself another glass of wine and took a weak sip before slumping down defeated into her seat. “Of course you wouldn’t think this was a date, you probably already have a girlfriend. Stupid, stupid Sansa.” She stood abruptly as a tear rolled down her cheek; she quickly brushed it away hoping against hope he hadn’t noticed. “I’m just going to go now and check on Hotpie.” She set her wineglass down but missed the table and somehow dumped the contents of her wine glass onto his jeans. _Gods_! He jumped up and began to mop it up with his napkin a steady stream of obscenities flowed out of his mouth like water from the tap. As he furiously wiped away the setting stain on his lap, Sansa had a brief flashback of the first time she laid eyes on him in the Serpentine. _Does he wear boxers or briefs? You’ll never know now, will you!_ Sansa immediately regretted drinking wine at all and she helped him mop up the spill. She refused to look at his face.

“I’m so sorry Sandor! It’s all my fault, I just wanted everything to be perfect and you don’t even want to be here.” She couldn’t help the words that were tumbling out of her mouth. It was a disaster and she was sure by now Sandor wished he had never met her. She had ruined the evening by assuming this was a date and now she had also ruined a comfortable looking pair of jeans as well. _If he didn’t hate you before, he will now._ “I’ll get your coat so you can leave now.” She was whispering that last sentence and it was taking all her strength for her legs not to buckle out underneath her.

Sandor had stopped wiping off the spilled wine on his jeans and instead cautiously wiped away a tear from her cheek. She hadn’t even realized she was silently crying. “Enough with your courtesies Little Bird.” She hung her head down and gulped. _I am a Stark I can be brave._ He cautiously placed his massive hands on her slender shoulders and she looked up deeply into his steel grey eyes. “I did want to come, it’s just if I had known it was a date-” He seemed at a loss for words. “If I had known this was a date I would have worn something besides this old t-shirt.” He gestured at his tight black shirt and Sansa noticed he looked generally flustered. “Oh hells girl.” He leaned into her and Sansa leaned forward her hands pressed lightly against his firm chest. _So many, many muscles._ His had slid to her lower back and he guided her more firmly into his chest. She was pressed firmly against him and her heart was beating wildly. Their faces were mere inches apart now, each of them starring into the other ones eyes. The room had suddenly become warm and Sansa couldn’t help but lick her lips in anticipation. _Sweet Maiden! Is he really going to kiss me?_

Just then, her door flew open and they both jumped apart. Arya her younger currently filthy sister, was dragging a large duffle bag behind her and swearing up a storm. “Fuck this piece of shit! I am so Gods damned mad I could actually kill someone right now!” _When is the last time she properly bathed?_ Arya dropped the duffle and ran to the bathroom without even a hello and Sansa’s jaw dropped. She knew what Arya was about to do and she was powerless to stop the oncoming train wreck. Her sister had run off to the bathroom to pee and left the door wide open so she could still talk to Sansa. It was a sister thing and Sansa was mortified that Sandor would now know this personal piece of information. _Gods!_

“Sansa you would not believe the day I am having!” Sansa heard the sound of sister unzip her pants as she settled into her routine. “As soon as I got your text about Ramsay Fuck Face we all hopped on an early flight home. _We, who is we?_  "Do you know I used to catch Ramsay Lord of the Damned masturbating outside your window, when we were younger? He was always a fucking perverted piece of camel shit. Why do you think I always trying to beat him up?” Sansa face palmed herself.

She audibly groaned underneath her hand as she heard Arya let out a contented sigh as she began to pee. _By the Gods! Arya stop, please stop._ Her sister continued speaking without a care in the world. “The boys were upgraded to first class of course while I was stuck back in coach." _Oh you came home with the boys._  "You will never guess who they sat me next to… Walder Fucking Frey. I had to hear about that gross shits family the entire flight while he stared at my tits Sansa, THE ENTIRE FLIGHT!” Arya had loudly emphasized the last part but Sansa felt a brief twinge of sympathy for her sister. Walder Frey was in fact in her sisters’ words _a gross shit_. She could hear the toilet paper roll being used and for a brief moment she wondered what life would be like as an only child. _Maybe Arya is adopted._

By now Sansa noticed that Mycah and Gendry had silently appeared in the doorway also looking filthy. Their greedy eyes were cast toward the dinner table. _Oh no you don’t. This food is for Sandor!_ She heard the toilet flush and Sansa just sighed. “Sis you’ll never guess what happened next.” Arya belched loudly before continuing. _This is a dream. Please someone tell me I’m dreaming._ “Those stupid airline people LOST my fucking luggage! Can you believe that? It’s like someone purposely wanted to piss me off today.” _Only an idiot would try to piss you off little sister._ Arya came out of the bathroom and froze when she saw Sandor. _She could at least wash her hands, gross!_

“Arya as you can plainly see I am on a date.” Sansa growled at her sister and as if to emphasize that very point she grasped Sandor’s massive hand with hers. She smiled to herself when she felt him squeeze her hand back, their fingers intertwining. Sometime while Arya was peeing Hotpie had reemerged clutching his pie pan with a look of utter delight on his face as he starred dreamily at Mycah. She looked between them both and smiled as Mycah stared dreamily back at Hotpie. _Oh, to have someone look at me like that._ Sansa glared at Gendry as he took another dangerous step toward the food, his mouth practically watering. She liked Gendry, she really did but this food was for Sandor. Lady must have sensed her distress because she gave a warning growl toward Gendry and he stopped his approach. Sansa realized that neither Sandor nor Arya were doing anything besides starring at one another. She looked up at his face and saw that he wore a mask of deep concentration as if he working out some great puzzle. _Please Arya, please be kind to him. He’s no Joffrey. Sandor won’t hurt me._ She was silently pleading with her sister to behave.

She cleared her throat and gestured around the room. “Everybody this is Sandor Cl…” Before she could even finish her sentence Arya had screamed some obscenity at Sandor as she did a running tackle and pounced right onto him. Her sister was clinging onto Sandor like a women who was possessed, kicking and swearing. The full force of Arya had knocked Sandor back into Sansa and they all crashed into the table. The dining room table buckled under the pressure and snapped in two throwing off all the food and wine. Sansa was suddenly amazed to find herself falling. She looked up and noticed it was as if time itself was in slow motion. The lemon chicken she had so carefully prepared this evening was launched into the air, arching upwards before landing smack dab into Lady’s food bowl. She had never seen her dog look so happy. Lady must have thought she was witnessing a Sevenmas miracle. The image of her bliss filled dog was the last thing she saw because once she landed Sandor’s elbow had made contact with her right eye and then all she saw were stars as her eye began swelling shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you guys think was it everything you hoped it would be? Is Sansa Ok? Why did Arya attack Sandor? Will Mypie finally kiss? What happened to the chicken? So many questions! Be sure to stay tuned for Date Night Part 2! Make sure you also take the time to listen to this fabulous song by Three Dog Night :)


	14. Gives You Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All intellectual and artistic property borrowed within this story belong to the original author, George R. R. Martin. 
> 
> Direwaggle42 and Jennilynn411 are just taking these characters and places for a spin, like a mint condition 1965 Aston Martin on a winding road through the Highlands of Scotland.

The flashing pair of eyes widened and Sandor had two thoughts before the butt of a palm grazed his cheek, only a quick twist of his neck keeping his hooked nose as intact as it still was after all these years. The first was a stunned; _I haven’t seen anger like that since I looked in a mirror before the Quiet Isle Clinic opened._ The second thought was nearly lost in the yowling scream and blur of a lass tearing towards him, still it thrummed through his mind like a cool breeze harbingering snow; _it’s like all the North was melted down, poured into her irises, and winter itself became a living thing to rage and howl behind her eyes._

Then a foot connected with his sternum as a hand, sharp little nails scouring his scalp, twisted into the pathetic straggle of hair on his right side. _What the fuck did I do to you, wolf bitch?!_ The other hand swung wildly and missed with Sandor’s own misstep. Balance lost, like a weirwood tree uprooted by a northern blizzard, Sandor was falling back, this wolf bitch of a girl riding him down like a collapsing building in an Essos earthquake. Sansa’s reassuring fingers seemed to trail away from him, too slowly and not fast enough as they all went hurtling down. Sandor briefly felt his left elbow connect with flesh and bone. _I know that feeling all too well._ He did not have time to wonder who he had inadvertently smashed into, because in a breath Sandor felt the edge of his Little Bird’s lovely antique table cut squarely across the small of his broad back.

_Its too godsdamned late._

And it was too late. The damage was done, as Sandor’s bulk plus the harpy of the Little Bird’s sister hit the table full force. The cursing girl pulled back her free fist to try again for Sandor’s nose. Rolling to the side, sending the asparagus to fly in a sweeping motion to clatter somewhere in the tile of the kitchen area, Sandor avoided a blow to the face with a jerk of his ugly mug and he heard the girl snarl in fury as her fist shattered a porcelain gravy bowl.

_Gravy boat? Sauce ship? Whatever the fuck it is, it’s gone to the seven heavens or seven hells of ceramic serving dishes now._

As he and the little lass from the hells hit the table, causing it to groan and buckle and then snap, he saw the roast chicken go flying.

 _What a fucking waste,_ he lamented. _What a fucking waste!_

His hands finally found some purchase on the wriggling bundle of muscle and hate bearing down on him. The momentary feeling of success was punctuated by the meaty smack of one of the girl’s _surprisingly fucking strong feet_ connecting solidly with his ribs. Grunting Sandor let go of her and twisted his wide torso, letting his body slide to the floor and causing the wolf bitch to lose her balance in the process.

 _Never let yourself get brought down, never go down without a fight, once you’re down you’re out._ Gregor and a lifetime in and out of the King’s Landing foster system had taught him that. Still, he always knew he would let himself go cheerfully to the floor of the Little Bird’s nest. While the girl was righting herself, Sandor slid back across the broken halves of the table, knocking chairs aside, to rise to his full height on the other side with a show of his own agility. That was when he heard the sob.

“ _Sandor Fucking Clegane, look what you’ve done now_!” Sandor heard the Little Bird’s sister scream, a coldness rolling through his veins as he watched Sansa. The voices and lights dimmed in that moment and Sandor felt his vision tunneling towards the Little Bird.

Standing shivering in her lovely flowing dress, smeared now with sauce, tears rolling down her cheeks, his eyes returned again and again to her right eye. She was swaying now like she had in the Dungeon. He took in the smattering of mashed potatoes dripping from her beautifully disheveled red locks. However, it was the quickly bruising and swelling eye that stared back at him so reproachfully. The blue pools themselves showed only terror laced with worry, but Sandor knew he had fucked it all up and worst of all he had hurt her.

 _You promised that you wouldn’t hurt her,_ he berated himself. Then another voice from his memory cackled back, Cersei slipping in with a wine laced worm tongue, _you always knew you were going to fuck it all up, I guess your brother isn’t the only Clegane with a penchants for hurting young women._

Sansa cringed as her sister bellowed, arms straining out towards Sandor. _She’d claw your damn eyes out if she could. What the hells could I have done to you, wolf bitch?_ Hotpie’s fairly stacked boyfriend and Sansa’s little hellion of a sister’s _traveling companion_ were blessedly holding her back.

“You are on my shit list, you piece of Westerland trash! You think your name scares me, you big ugly fuck?! You think your position at Tourney Illustrated will save you?!” Sandor wanted to bark back ‘What the fuck did I ever fucking do to you’ and ‘I haven’t worked for Tourney for eight years!’ But he knew he had already done enough damage to the Little Bird without scaring her further and he’d be twice damned if the little wolf bitch did not look naggingly familiar. Instead of answering her, he shot what he hoped was a thankful glance to the two young men who were still keeping her away from him. By this time Hotpie had lurched forward from where he had been standing surveying the demise of his beautiful dinner spread, looking about as confused as Sandor felt. Hotpie’s pudgy hands were waving over all the ruined food like a Qwarth mystic, a look of relief passing over his face when he saw his pie pan was still safely set to the side. Stepping closer to Sansa, Sandor began to apologize, opening his arms to show he meant no harm.

_Little Bird, I’m so, so sorry._

Her knees were shaking and then they buckled as Sandor stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her shaking form, holding her up until she could gain her footing again. The warmth of her shivering form pressed itself along his side, willowy arms crept around his torso, the wetness of her tears seeping through the thinness of his favorite ratty weekend t-shirt. The shirt felt too tight though now or maybe that was just because this slip of a lass had carved out a place for herself in his chest and nestled herself against the chunk of charred muscle he had been calling a heart all these years.

As she faltered, slipping down his side with a damp gasp of fear, Sandor swept her legs up into his arms. She curled into the trunk of his body like a frightened dove in the stony arms of a piece of Sept statuary. _You’re such a light little thing._ The weight of having caused her pain, of having caused a bruise to bloom on her cheek instead of a blush, built like stones upon his chest. Bending his knees, he shifted her higher in his arms, her nose now pressed into the sweep of his neck and shoulder, her mouth moving, muttering against the exposed flesh. _Probably praying that after tonight she never has to lean on your worthless carcass for support again._

“Please, Sandor,” he heard as Sansa’s sister was taking a breath, eyes wild with ire, her hands reaching about her still though the lads had her well contained. “Don’t put me down.” Her breath smelt a little of the wine she had soaked his pants with moments earlier. _I bet your lips would have tasted of lemons, wine or no._ “Arya won’t touch you if you’re holding me. I’m, I’m sure.” Sandor’s eyes bulged when he saw Arya’s fingers connect and grasp the edge of the newly returned Lemon Meringue pie pan. Ducking and turning his back so the Little Bird was protected by the breadth of his body. The shattering and shivering tinkle of porcelain sparkling to the floor, like so many falling stars, met with a strangled cry and then silence.

Before Sandor could turn and snarl at Sansa’s _thoughtless_ little sister, Hotpie leapt forward, mouth set in a frown that creased his usually jovial features.

“What the actual fuck, Arya Stark!?” Hotpie roared, looking like an enraged cream puff. “Not only did you just _destroy_ a beloved piece of Mycah and my personal history, you could have hurt _your own sister_!” Hotpie was huffing and puffing and for the first time since Arya had laid eyes on Sandor that evening, she was still, quiet, face downturned. “Did you think of that? What do you think would have happened? That the pie pan would _magically_ avoid your sister? Hasn’t she been wounded enough by _supposed_ loved ones, without _you_ adding to the tally?!”

Sansa squeezed Sandor tighter and he held her closer to his chest, feeling her shudders pick up then slow with each passing breath. Still the tears continue to slip down her pale cheeks. Muffled by his shoulder, Sansa called out her own question.

“Isn’t it enough you came in and destroyed tonight’s dinner, you have to attack my friends too?” Her voice rose sharply on the last three words and Sandor felt another stab of guilt. _How could a friend let himself hurt you? How friendly is that? It is craven, not friendly_. “You will,” the Little Bird’s voice was still warbling with unshed tears and unconquered fears, “not,” she repeated with a colder stony tone, “not come into my home, Arya Stark, and attack my guests.” _There are the talons and the teeth._ Arya’s boyfriend and Mycah let go of the petite young woman and even as she stood still she seemed to slump with momentary defeat.

The voice that answered Sansa and Hotpie was not that of the foolhardy, blood thirsty, wolf who launched herself pell-mell towards a man so much larger and stronger than herself that it was nearly comical. The voice that answered Sansa and Hotpie came in little pants and a husky sigh of regret and resignation, fluttering to land amongst them as a sparrow with a broken wing.

“You don’t get it Sans—.” Sansa cut her off before she could continue.

“No, _Arya,_ you don’t get it.” Sansa’s head was off Sandor’s chest but he could feel her hands locking more tightly around his neck, the duck tails of his dark hair catching in between her slender fingers. Arya’s head lifted and her eyes were boring into Sandor’s, storm fronts meeting in the quiet of evening. Somewhere a light bulb crackled, popped, and shone brightly in the murky depths of Sandor’s memory. _Nymeria, ‘The Wolf Bitch from Winterfell._ Sandor’s eyes slid to the broadly muscular young man with close cropped strawberry blonde hair and a spattering of freckles across his broad face. _Which would make... Mycah… ‘The Butcher’s Boy’._ Sandor’s stomach dropped as Arya’s lips peeled back in a skull scraping smile.

“Definitely don’t put me down.” Sansa murmured into his neck.

“So do you remember now, _Clegane?”_ Memories of the last, _the very bloody last,_ article he had written for Tournament Illustrated and for the Lannisters flashed through his mind. The words were no longer imprinted in his mind, having been smudged by a few years of heavy drinking and more years of working towards healthier coping habits, but he remembered the lasting effects of the article had had upon a number of _promising_ but _under age_ Mixed Martial Arts fighters from the North. “Mycah, Gendry,” Arya’s face was now a mask of barely contained rage, burning a little cooler than before but no less deadly, “this is Sandor fucking Clegane, the man who got us banned from MMA for _five godsdamned years_.” Arya shot a look to Sansa. “He, dear sister, is the reason why our parents shuffled me off to Yoren’s Youth Camp—.”

“You _loved_ Yoren, Arya.” Sansa cried out indignantly, her face had paled at the news but her lip no longer trembled. “You loved Yoren like a second father and you loved his camp, too. I remember your letters.” Sandor felt like he had just had his head smashed through a mirror and found himself walking amongst a few of the ghosts of his past in Westeros Wonderland. “And I remember Daddy the night he found out about your escapades. He was _furious_ that you might have gotten yourself killed without a second thought. He was _thankful_ you and your friends were caught if it meant you were _safe!_ Arya, you were 12, trying to fight with _boys_ who were 16 and older!”

“You and Jon may have been the only ones to write me, and _you,_ Sansa, may be okay with this ugly fuck being near you, but I’ll never forgive _him_ for outing Mycah and nearly _ruining_ his career.” Arya snarled, Sandor’s eyes moved of their own accord back to The Butcher’s Boy. The young man looked back at Sandor with calm eyes, no hate or malice there, but as the lad’s eyes turned to Arya there was sadness staining his freckled features.

 _They were just children_ , Sandor thought. _All of them, including ‘The Bastard Bull from Fleabottom’. All were too young to be fighting in those tournaments_. He wished that was the only driving force behind that godsdamned article. Purer intentions had been lost the moment Cersei Lannister told him this was ‘the scoop of the century’ and that there were prominent Northern Politicians, hints of bleeding hearts, _possible child abuse_ , and scandal sprinkled throughout. ‘It is your job to break these kinds of stories, dog,’ Cersei had snarled. ‘Fuck that,’ he’d said but still he had written it, hadn’t he? _That was the last straw though, the one that broke this dog’s back. Well, that and when Cersei thought she could strong arm me into cloaking the story of Gregor and his less than subtle hand in the death of the heiress of Martell Toy and Game Company in a white coat of cover-up paint_. It had all come to a head that day and he was fairly sure the offices of Tournament Illustrated had not heard the word ‘fuck’ so liberally bandied about or so explicitly directed towards the CEOs, their company, and their magazine.

“Have you ever thought of asking why he wrote that article, before you leapt at his throat like a rabid animal?” Sansa nearly snarled, her own throat rasping a little with crying.

“Arya,” Gendry began before the petite girl could lash back, big hands hovering over her shoulders but not touching. His thick fingers curled up and his hands were large fists that he let drop to his narrow hips. “Arya, it has been nearly a decade since that day. Mycah is doing better than ever.” Mycah was fingering a ribbon peeking out from under his shirt, looking distinctly like that belonging to a medal. Arya opened her mouth to reply and Sansa chirped up again.

“Arya, you have got to learn to forgive and forget.”

Arya spun on her heels hissing, “So I suppose you’ve forgiven and forgotten?” Arya’s teeth flashed and to her credit Sansa did not balk but bared her own teeth back, cheeks dampening even so. “Well, excuse me if I cannot turn traitor so easily, Sansa!” And once again it was the stay puff marshmallow man who had had enough of The Wolf Bitch from Winterfell’s bullshit.

“Arya, you are in your sister’s home! By the Smith, can you not see how upset she was earlier? How upset you’re making her now? Why don’t you and Gendry,” Hotpie looked sadly and longingly at Mycah, “and Mycah go back to your places, get settled in, and leave a few _adults_ to clean up _your_ mess.” Hotpie raised his eyebrows and hummed with downturned lips, foot tapping impatiently. Sandor could feel Sansa turning into his shoulder once more, shirt being soaked with a few more tears and a couple muffled hiccups reiterating Hotpie’s point.

“Someone needs to take Lady to a vet.” Sandor’s voice rang hallow and distant in his own ears. Arya glared at him but Gendry and Mycah just looked confused until Hotpie leapt over to where Lady was lying, glutted on her feast, tongue lolling happily from her smiling mouth, chicken bones spread out around her, the evidence of her victory over her fowl enemy.

“Good gods, Lady!” Hotpie quickly grabbed her leash and shaking his head spoke bent over the completely sacked out wolf dog. “A whole chicken, really?” He clicked her lead on her collar. “Sansa, I’m going to take her straight to the doggie ER, I’m sure she is A Okay, lemon cake, but we wouldn’t want her to get a tummy ache.” Sansa snuffled out an ‘okay, that sounds good,’ then Hotpie pointed at the three ex youth fighters. “You, you, and _especially you,_ are coming with me like yesterday. Come on.” And the troop of misfit toys marched out of the ransacked apartment, Arya tucked reluctantly under the long drape of Gendry’s arm and muttering up to him as they exited. When the door shut Sansa breathed a sigh of relief that tickled Sandor’s good ear, bringing back memories of when they had been breathing each other’s breaths, lips nearly brushing. Sandor shook his head, _now is not even close to the right time to be thinking those kinds of thoughts, dog._

“I know, I’m so, so sorry, Sandor.” Her words were whimpered and he thought she murmured, “please, set me down on the couch.” Carefully moving her past the wreckage of her table, Sandor deposited her on the squishy brown couch. For a moment he could smell the alcohol again, the lemon drop and the Flaming Wight, on her breath, he remembered all the sweet courteous nothings she had murmured to him the night of the Serpentine, but then he tried to straighten up and saw her black eye.

“None of this was your fault, Little Bird.” He grated out as gently as he could muster, his breath shifting the tendrils of her fiery hair on her forehead that were not sodden with mashed potatoes. “I’ll go get some ice for that shiner now, so,” he lifted her arms from around his neck, “you’ll just have to let me go.”

The one blue eye that could still see blinked up at him, she sighed out the words, “what if I don’t want to let you go?”

Before he could answer those cherry sweet lips and tempting words, Sandor raced to the kitchen. He couldn’t shake the knowledge that Sansa could do so much better than him. She could find someone prettier or more handsome, someone younger and smarter or smoother, someone who didn’t have meat hooks for hands and a tendency to hurt those closest to him. _Never again_. He vowed, _I’ll never let anyone, even myself, hurt her again_.

Opening the freezer door, Sandor wanted to laugh but the sound choked in his throat, nobody needed to hear his harsh bark of a laugh right now. _Of course, the Maiden made flesh would have to have ice cubes shaped like little hearts. How could she not?_

Returning to the blessedly quiet little living room, kneeling by the tan couch, Sandor held out a bag of ice.

“Don’t know,” he trailed off. “I usually just use a slab of meat or a bag of peas.” He gave a huffed grimace. “Didn’t think you would want that though, so.” He trailed off again. “I don’t know how to say how sorry I am. But I am, so very sorry.” Teeth grinding, he found he could not meet her good eye, but concentrated instead on the way her stomach was rising and falling with soft little crests and dips, a calm sea at last.

“If you stay,” Sansa lifted a hand, cupping the burnt side, a soft blush gracing her features, “if you’ll stay with me for, for a little while.” Sandor nodded, meeting her eye now, her hand still holding his face, holding his heart in the marble smooth curl of her fingertips. “If you stay then I’ll know you haven’t been completely and utterly disgusted by this whole,” the muted feel of her hand left his face and she made a fluttering little gesture to encompass the entire debacle of the evening, “thing.” He waited, he could tell she was not done yet; and though he was not a patient man by nature, he would always try to be for her. “And if you stay then I’ll know that you forgive me too.”

“Sansa,” Sandor felt his shoulders stiffen and his nostrils flare, “bloody hells, girl.” She winced and he regretted yet another stupid slip of his oafish tongue. “You don’t need my forgiveness. You’ve done nothing wrong. Nothing. I’m,” he felt his cheeks heat and his brow crease, “I’m the asshole who gave you that black eye. I’m the asshole who broke your table.” _With the help of that little wolf bitch, but I’m the one who wrote that article._

“This is hardly my first black eye, Sandor.” Sansa mumbled it so demurely that Sandor nearly did not catch the implication. “And besides,” she pressed the ice pack to her swollen eye with one hand, straightening the skirt of her dress with the other. “You apologized at least.” Sandor’s hackles were fully raised now and he had to roll his shoulders a few times not to bark out ‘who the fuck would hit you?’ _A conversation for another time, dog. If she’ll let you talk to her again, cur, that is a conversation for another time._

Instead he turned his head, frowning at the mess.

Sandor heard Hotpie’s voice again, ‘I could mince you up and turn you into adorable tasty little meaty nibbles for her Ladyship over there.’ _Maybe Hotpie and I need to have,_ he shuddered _, a heart to heart about Sansa’s past relationships._ Fingers tapped against his thick shoulder and he swung his head to face Sansa, eyes on level still. _Or maybe you should take the Little Bird’s advice and just ask her about it, afterall it is her life. Another time though._

“Sandor, will you get my purse from the chair, please?” He moved wordlessly around the apartment to find ‘the chair’ with ‘the purse’. “I was thinking.” He harrumphed as he found a grey and lavender clutch nestled by an embroidered pillow, a set of silver wolves running across its white linen cover. “Perhaps I can order some pizza and we can salvage the rest of evening while we wait for Hotpie?” It wasn’t a question exactly but the uptick on Hotpie made him turn quickly, shock probably written in bold print across his face. “If you want that is.” She began to stammer and he nodded.

“Yes, if you’re willing… if you still wanted to, that is.” He passed her the purse and a small rectangle of stock paper fell out. “What’s this?” He asked dumbly, thick fingers squeezing the creamy corner of the card and picking it up with a grunt. Blue ink numbers were scratched on the upward facing side, hard and harsh edges of the letters, sprawled out like the writer had thrown them on there in an attempt to make it look spur of the moment.

“What is it?” Sansa’s auburn eyebrows knit together, one side warped by the swelling and shown dimly through the bag of heart shaped ice cubes, the other starkly flushed then drained of blood in a few blinks. “What is that?” She was beginning to breathe in nervous little puffs through her delicate nose. “I don’t usually have cards just lying around. I never carry them loose anyway.” With a swallow she asked again, “What is it?”

“It’s a nice quality business card by the feel.” Flipping it over Sandor could not stem the flood of revulsion that swept across his features. Looking up at her he ran his tongue across his dry bottom lip, from the smooth to the waxy roughness. “It’s a business card with a number written on it for Ramsay Snow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *no fictional doggies have been harmed in the making of this fic*
> 
> *we repeat, no doggies have been harmed*


	15. Your Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning** Mention and NON-graphic depiction of animal abuse/ abused animals**
> 
> This chapter discusses animal abuse in a non-graphic manner but it is a present theme **through out** the chapter.
> 
> As always, the intellectual and artistic property borrowed within this story belong to the original author George R R Martin.
> 
> Jennilynn411 and Direwaggle42 are just borrowing these characters and places and taking them for a spin, like a Sky Blue '47 Cadillac cruising down Sunset Strip after a summer rain.

Hotpie walked in silence toward his car fuming the entire way. Lady for once wasn’t trying to pull his arm out of the socket. _What was Arya thinking? That she-devil broke my pie pan!_ So Sandor Clegane was on Arya Stark’s shit list interesting. Right now Arya Stark was now number one on Hotpies shit list. The dining room table was broken, the wine was undoubtedly staining the carpet, and the dinner was completely ruined. Sometimes Hotpie was glad he was an only child. Now instead of spending the rest of the evening gazing lovingly into his boyfriend’s eyes they had to take Lady to the vet _. Oh this is going to be a blast_. He didn’t want to say anything to Sansa, but he was worried Miss Lady may have swallowed a chicken bone or two. He looked down at the so-called husky by his side; _She regrets nothing, she would eat another chicken in a heartbeat._ His memories drifted back to the day when Sansa had rescued Lady.

 

He had picked her up from her weekly therapy session at the Quiet Isle Clinic and Sansa had mentioned that Elder Brother recommend she do some volunteer work at the local animal shelter. “Hotpie he said that people just abuse dogs and cast them aside like trash.” Her eyes were glistening and he felt as if his own heart would break. “I know what’s that like Hotpie; I was broken and left for dead. If it wasn’t for Tyrion-“ She couldn’t even finish her sentence and Hotpie knew that through hell of high water he would make sure Sansa would get to the pound as often as she needed. After a few weeks the change in Sansa was remarkable; by helping other animals to heal she herself was healing.

 

On a sunny afternoon he went to pick her up and found her standing next to a giant man-eating beast. Hotpie couldn’t believe Sansa could so close to such a ferocious looking dog. She turned and looked at him with her wide blue eyes. “Hotpie they are going to kill her because no one wants her! We have to save her.” Sansa was now hugging the wolf hybrid and crying, somehow he knew they would be bringing a dog home that day. He could already tell this dog would be a mix between an absolute terror and a total sweetheart. Sansa needs her though and maybe I won’t worry about her so much when I work late. Lady nudged him along with her massive head and suddenly Hotpie was back in the present. He smiled down at the man-hating beast that barely tolerated him. _You only like be because I give you treats_. For the life of him he couldn’t figure out what sort of magic Sandor had with Lady. Is he sneaking you bacon while I’m not looking? Earlier that evening he had spied Sandor, Sansa and Lady playing. _For just a moment they appeared to be one big happy family._

 

The group rounded the corner and found his mini green eco friendly car. Mycah had joked that it looked like a wind up toy but Hotpie didn’t care he loved his little frog.

 

“We have to drive in that?” He whiled around and glared at Arya. _How dare she complain! This whole thing was her fault!_

“Yes.” He could feel his teeth grinding and a headache coming on. He pulled out his keys and unlocked the doors. “Everybody in the back. Lady always rides shotgun.” The groans and protests made by the group caused him to smile.

 

Gendry opened the door and pushed the seat forward. “Lady come on now. Be a good girl and hop in the back.” Lady let out a low menacing growl toward Gendry. He swallowed hard and crawled into the back without saying another word. Arya refused to budge.

 

“Fuck this shit! Gendry get out of that clown mobile right now. We are taking your truck and going home.” She turned to stomp off, but Mycah grabbed her by the arm and spun her back around.

 

“Arya Marie Daffodil Roger Stark, get in that car right now!” She rolled her eyes at him but complied. Mycah was over six feet tall, had red hair, freckles and was made of solid muscle. Arya was only five feet tall with short brown hair big grey eyes. She was only made up of lean muscle and anger. She knew better than to argue with The Butcher. She crawled in next to Gendry complaining loudly all the way. Mycah just smirked leaned his head into the backseat before thrusting a finger in her face. “You owe your sister an apology and a new table.” He paused before considering what he would say next. “You also owe my boyfriend an antique pie pan, next time I hope you think twice before using something as a Frisbee.” Hotpie beamed at his boyfriend.

 

Mycah straightened up and strode toward him. “This isn’t exactly how I pictured my big homecoming, Hot Stuff.” Hotpie smiled at his nickname and leaned in for a long overdue kiss before a seemingly disgruntled Lady separated them. She walked right in between them pushing them apart with her big wolf behind while emitting a dangerous growl toward Mycah.

 

Hotpie laughed nervously. “She’s a little over protective sometimes.” Mycah just smiled and somehow crammed his massive body into an already packed back seat. Hotpie sighed looked at Lady and adjusted back the seat into an upright position. Lady happily jumped into the front tail wagging. _She probably thinks this is the best night of her life._ Hotpie shut the door and ran to his side of the car. Kings Landing Veterinary Clinic was only a short drive away. “You’re going to be fine Lady. Don’t worry.” Lady did not, in fact, look worried. He rolled down the window for her and took one last look in the back seat to make sure everyone was buckled. Gendry was smashed against the window his messy brown hair covering his eyes, but he could still see that he was trying hard not to laugh. Arya was practically sitting on his lap scowling and Mycah was sitting with his knees practically pushed up to his chin.

 

He gave his boyfriend a sympathetic look before thrusting The Frog into reverse and driving down the street. They had just crossed under the Durran Bridge when he spied something up ahead in the headlights. He slowed down and noticed it was a dog. _It’s limping; I think it’s hurt._ He stopped the car and jumped out to take a better look at the injured dog. He ignored the loud protests from the backseat. _I have to help._ He gently approached the medium sized wounded dog carefully holding out his hand in front of him. _Please don’t bite me. I just want to help._ The dirty, matt covered dog limped over to him and let out a painful whine. He had never rescued a dog from the side of the road before and he had no idea what to do. Suddenly he noticed Lady next to him staring quietly at the wounded animal. She sniffed the dog and nudged it gently forward with her large snout. The dog crept quietly closer to Hotpie and practically collapsed into his waiting arms. He looked up to see Mycah standing above him all eyes glistening at the sight.

 

Mycah took off his coat and they wrapped the dog securely in it before they all squeezed back into The Frog. The dog was being held on the lap on Arya and Gendry her head resting on Mycah. She was whimpering in pain and for the first time in his life Hotpie drove faster than the speed limit toward the hospital. Just the sight of something so injured and helpless had changed the mood inside that tiny car. All of a sudden Hotpie was back at the hospital as they all crowded around an unconscious Sansa. Some idiot doctor telling them she had lost too much blood and they should say their goodbyes. _No, no, no I will not say goodbye._ Arya was stroking the dog whispering soothing words and Gendry was even humming a song. Hotpie couldn’t believe someone would just abandon a dog like a piece of garbage. _Just like Sansa. Just like Lady._ It made him sick to his stomach and he prayed to all the Gods that this bundle in the back would be all right. _Hang on girl; we are almost to there._

He parked near the front of the hospital and everyone piled out of the car. Mycah still held the wounded dog in his steady arms while Hotpie grabbed Lady’s leash. He looked up at his boyfriend and his heart ached. Mycah was his whole world; he loved that red head of his. He would do anything for him and it hurt to know that Sandor Clegane had outed him as gay. _All for some stupid story._ It had spun Mycah into a deep depression that almost cost him his life but he had persevered. Now Mycah The Butcher was an inspiration to all those around him. When he wasn’t on tour with the MMA he was volunteering with the troubled youth. Hotpie never knew he could love anyone the way he loved his man. Knowing Sandor had caused so much pain made him want to wring his massive neck. However, if his boyfriend could find forgiveness in his heart then so could he. Sansa really seemed to like Sandor and even Lady gave her approval. _That had to mean something right?_ They all walked silently into the Kings Landing Veterinary Hospital, each lost in their own thoughts. They were all worried about this fragile dog wrapped in nothing but a coat. As they reached the sliding glass doors he knew they were bow a more united front than when they had been when they left the apartment.

 

 

 

During the first part of the ride to the King’s Landing Veterinary Clinic, Mycah had fought the urge to reach out and put his big hand on Hotpie’s rounded shoulder. Any kind of contact after a couple of weeks apart felt like too little. Now Mycah was holding the abandoned badly hurt pup and praying to the Warrior to let her live.

 

_It’ll break my Hot Stuff’s heart if—_ Mycah didn’t finish that thought but ended his prayer with a promise _, Warrior and Stranger, believe me now, I’ll find you both and smack your stupid godly heads together if you break my man’s heart._

 

Somewhere the gods were probably laughing, but the ping of a bell followed by another fifteen repetitions of the same sound brought Mycah’s eyes back to the Veterinary Clinic’s front desk and the young woman on the phone. She was speaking quickly, glancing at Arya and then she held up a ‘one moment please’ finger. Arya was rocking back and forth, from the balls of her feet to her heels, but it was Hotpie who stepped forward, sweeping Arya aside like a cartoon Westerosi princess sweeping up one of her less than helpful mouse sidekicks.

 

_Come on, Hot Stuff, show them why the Butcher is nothing without his Baker!_

 

“Miss, if you could point us in the direction of the ER, we have two sick dogs, but one,” Mycah stepped forward and partially unwrapped his coat from the thin little pup’s quaking body. The young woman’s eyes went wide and she murmured, “I’ll call back to continue filling that prescription for the golden and the dachshund, there’s an emergency.”

 

With a flurry of her hand, revealing three paw print tattoos on the inside of her delicate wrist, the receptionist was on the phone again speaking quickly.

 

“We need Dr. Jaime for an emergency surgery, yes,” she glanced at Mycah, Hotpie, Arya, and Gendry, “yes, we’ve been brought what looks like a case of mal-nutrition coupled with a serious leg injury. In the clinic’s main waiting room.” The little dog in his arms gave a sad whimper that ended in a trilling whine and Mycah felt one of Hotpie’s hands gripping his arm for support, the other was gently running over the little dog’s brow, between her wide, pain dazed, eyes.

 

“Its going to be okay girl.” Mycah murmured, trying to tell Hotpie ‘It’s going to be okay, Hot Stuff’ in so few words. “Arya, Gendry,” Mycah tipped his chin up, “let the men with the gurney through.” A few short moments later, a chaotic blink of the eye, the little dog was being wheeled through a set of doors back towards what Mycah assumed was the surgical unit.

 

Hotpie was filling out paperwork and Mycah carefully took Lady’s lead. For now, she was content enough to go with him. _Probably only because she can scent how frightened Hotpie is, protective hell hound._ They sat down together, Lady on the floor and Mycah trying to squeeze his unyielding and sore, muscular bulk into one of the waiting room’s small chairs. Arya and Gendry sat down on the side away from Lady and for the time the two seemed content to sit quietly. _A rarity for Arya, especially after how badly she behaved at her sister’s apartment_. Mycah had had to restrain himself from snapping and snarling at her like Lady might have. _No one does those kinds of things to Hot Stuff, not even my oldest friend._

 

When Hotpie finally came back to sit with them he slipped his hand between Mycah’s forearm and thigh to wrap around the roped muscles of his arm and tugged Mycah so that he could lean more comfortably against Mycah’s bicep. Mycah wasn’t complaining. The gentle little huffs of Hotpie’s warm breath were a reminder that he was back in King’s Landing, back with the love of his life, and that soon enough they were going to be doing all kinds of boring couple things like picking out drapes. _All the little things I’d usually rather pull my hair out than do, but with Hot Stuff at my side, those errands feel like quests and adventures._ Mycah let his cheek momentarily fall to the top of Hotpie’s head then let his chin briefly fuss his finicky little cook’s hair.

 

Hotpie gave a soft breathy chuckle and lifted his head.

 

“Can’t wait until we get home to mess up my hair, Myc?” Hotpie’s eyes ran back to the doors they had taken the little dog through and his adorably pudgy facial features dropped. “I hope she’s okay.” Hotpie’s voice quivered and Mycah slung his arm around Hotpie, pulling him as close as the clinic waiting room chairs would allow. “I hope she doesn’t….”

 

“I know, Hot Stuff, I know.” He shushed him by ghosting his lips across Hotpie’s flushed forehead, a whisper of a promise that everything would be alright.

 

“Lady and,” the receptionist paused, a funny and confused frown playing about her features, “Hot…Pie?” Hotpie took Lady’s leash and rolled his eyes at Mycah, his brave face worn well but not fooling Mycah.

 

Perhaps a half hour, _or maybe a whole hour_ , it was hard to tell in the pleasant but fluorescent glow of the King’s Landing Veterinary Clinic waiting room, Hotpie and Lady emerged. Lady looked both slightly chagrinned and maybe a little resentful that her miraculous day had ended with a visit to the Vets.

 

But Hotpie was smiling, or as near to smiling as he could considering the heart wrenching condition in which they had found that sad pup.

 

“She’s still in surgery but they say it is looking like she’ll pull through, then”, his voice warbled a little but clearing his throat Hotpie continued. “Then it will be about time and care. Myc?” Mycah nodded.

 

“We’ll be back tomorrow to check on her. Don’t worry, Hotpie. A team of Dothraki horses couldn’t keep you and me away from seeing how she’s doing.” Hotpie nodded. “How about Lady?” Hotpie had already paid up and Mycah’s eyes followed Hotpie’s hand as it tucked the receipt into his back pocket.

 

“She will need to be brought back for observation, but the doctor said there was no tightness in her belly, her temp was good, and she was in no apparent discomfort.” Lady jerked forward with a harsh bark and low growl as Mycah reached for Hotpie’s shoulder. Quickly drawing his hand back Mycah sighed.

 

When they got to the frog, it was the usual ordeal. Arya bitched for a hot second before Mycah prepared to squish her into the back like a particularly unruly jack in the box, Gendry docilely following behind his wolf bitch of a girlfriend. Lady gave Micah a cold, level, stare and raised her lip.

 

“What!? What! I’m getting in the back!” Mycah folded himself as best he could, legs slightly turned in on themselves, knees too close to his chest and the underside of his chin for any real comfort.

 

“No, if Hotpie wants you to replace his—.” Mycah found himself growling down at Arya, bent like a contortionist over Gendry’s ample lap.

 

“Fine, fine!” Arya snapped back. “I’ll go shopping with Hotpie to replace that dish thingy.”

 

“Pie Pan!” Hotpie nearly shouted as he turned the wheel of the frog sharply and they put the King’s Landing Veterinary Clinic at their backs.

 

“Whatever.” Mycah wanted to cuff her on the back of the head. _Why is she being such an asshole to Hotpie? Hotpie is her friend too._ “But”, and Arya’s voice got that sly slip of a knife through the ribs edge to it, “Sansa will have to come along too.” Hotpie sighed and glancing in the review mirror rolled his eyes so that Mycah had to stifle his laughter and turn it into a lame fake cough.

 

They spent the rest of the ride to drop Arya and Gendry off at Gendry’s truck and then the short walk up to Sansa’s apartment in relative silence. The only noise the occasional growl and the grunts of Lady doggedly pressing herself between Mycah and Hotpie.

 

“Sansa is going to have to take Lady herself next time.” Hotpie was muttering as Lady growled at Mycah again. “Once she is completely back to her normal self she won’t want to go anywhere with yours truly.”

 

“She’s a fool if she won’t go anywhere with you.” Mycah crooned, lips turned up in a laughing grin and he saw Hotpie’s eyes sparkling. “I mean, I’d follow you anywhere, Hot Stuff.” Hotpie’s mouth pursed like he was trying not to smile and then his lips widened and his face creased in the first true smile Mycah had seen all evening.

 

Hotpie was humming to himself, standing looking at apartment 424.

 

“Maybe Sandor,” Mycah rolled his eyes knowing exactly where this was going. “No, hear me out, Myc! Lady, _for whatever reason_ , loves that big slab of muscle and testosterone. It would be _ever so much easier_ for Sansa and Mr. Grumpy to take Lady to the Vet.” Hotpie smirked down at his spare key as he turned the lock. “Yes, I think I will plant that little seed in Sansa’s mind and we’ll see what kind of harvest we can glean.”

 

Mycah shook his head, saw Hotpie blow him a kiss over his shoulder as he slipped into the dimly lit apartment. Mycah made a swiping motion with his hand and tucked the kiss into his breast pocket. As Hotpie mouthed ‘night, Myc’ and closed the door, Mycah could swear he saw Sansa snuggled up against the hulking shadow of Sandor, her head pressed to his wide chest.

 

The door shut before Mycah could be certain but with another shake of his head and a quiet laugh to himself he thought. _You’ve seen those looks before, though._ _And that adorable ‘I can heal the world’ look on Hot Stuff is all too familiar._ It was the same look Hotpie had gotten on his face when Mycah had finally told him about when he first came out, _was outed._ Mycah’s fingers rubbed gently at his wrists, running up to his stiff forearms, to finally knead his shoulders, as he quietly made his way down from the Tower.

 

Hotpie never said he wanted to fix anyone, that wasn’t the kind of amazing lovable man he was. No, Hotpie knew people had their cracks and fissures, their flaws and scars, and he knew that was what made them all the stronger and more beautiful. That’s what Hotpie had told him that day, right before wrapping his soft fingers around Mycah’s wrists, thumbs smoothing soothing circles across the blue lines that dashed under his pale flawed skin, standing on his tip toes to follow the trails of the silent tears falling from Mycah’s eyes. From his jaw to his freckle splattered cheek bones, Hotpie had retraced the salty paths as if to sweep them back again and make the pain as if it had never existed.

Mycah smiled to himself. _Hot Stuff is going to have his hands full with those two but playing Maiden-Match-Maker might not be as hard as he thinks._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Your Song" by Elton John was a song that both of us listened to or drew inspiration from for this chapter. Definitely give it a listen (I mean what's not to love, it is a lovely song).


	16. I Want You To Want Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gather round the fire my little lemon drops and I’ll tell you quite a tale. Hold your vomit bucket close and your lemons closer for something wicked this way comes.

You couldn’t believe your eyes. _What the fuck?_ The night had started so well yet ended so poorly. You wander aimlessly around your apartment, your silk robe open flapping out behind you. You drink deeply from your Dragons Breath Whisky bottle as your brain replays the moment that monster had broken your goddess. You check your phone screen again and realize she is _still_ on the couch. Her head is resting so _peacefully_ against that monsters chest. She is your _goddess_ , your _angel_ and she is _beautiful_. You notice that while she is sleeping Sandor _Fucking_ Clegane is absent-mindedly playing with her long beautiful hair. That hair is _belongs_ to you. How _dare_ he touch it without your _permission_! Your _goddess_ must have passed out again from pure exhaustion and pain. She is such a _delicate_ creature, too delicate to be around a _Clegane_. You look in despair as her once _beautiful_ eye is now fully swollen over. You would send her an apology gift _later_. For now she was perfectly defenseless and you are too far away to _protect_ her from him. You are a knight and she is your lady. Sansa trusted you to keep her safe.

_She belongs to you_.

You _curse_ Sandor’s name and take another _deep_ drink from your bottle. You need something that will take the pain away, something that will help you make sense of this nightmare. The night had started out so _well_. You smile to yourself as you remember your bliss filled morning. It started as it usually did with you _monitoring_ her in the shower. You had especially _enjoyed_ watching her shave those slender legs. Your mind _loved_ to drift back to the vision of her _glistening_ body and wet hair. She was singing her songs for you while she lathered her body. You could tell by the way she looked directly into the camera that she needed _you._ Every time she showered you would _feel_ yourself harden, _longing_ for her embrace. You clutched her _hairbrush_ in your hand as you parted your _favorite_ robe. You inhaled her scent off the brush and took yourself in hand while imagining it was _her_ mouth around you. Releasing yourself as you climaxed while she softly sang to you was _exhilarating_. After you would carefully smear _your_ essence into her hair strands left preserved in that sacred brush. This was your morning routine and it was better then any cup of coffee. One day you would present her with all your love tokens and she would be so _thankful_. She would be so _grateful_. Sansa trusted you to keep her safe.

_She belongs to you._

You looked back at your phone and replayed the footage of her dancing around the kitchen cooking. You were _disappointed_ at the obvious effort she going through. You would discuss this _folly_ with her later. No matter what _her_ plans were you still had plans of _your_ own. You sped up the footage further to when she was in her room. She had changed her outfit five times, _five times_. You had _enjoyed_ every ensemble that she tried on. You became _concerned_ with her behavior when you heard her _confide_ to her so-called _roommate_ that she was _nervous_ about Sandor _liking_ her. She couldn’t _possibly_ be _interested_ in that _oaf_ ; she was probably only _terrified_ of _disappointing_ him. Her ugly roommate had the _nerve_ to give her _encouragement_. Your goddess didn’t _need_ encouragement from _anyone_ except you. You did however make a mental _note_ that she enjoyed the fragrance _Pinkmaiden_. When Sandor _finally_ arrived he had effectively ruined the rest of your evening. _Surprise, surprise._ You had your secret weapon of course. Sansa trusted you to keep her safe.

_She belongs to you._

You skipped through the rest of the _sickening_ footage making sure to pause when Sandor _insulted_ your _beloved_ goddess. _Right to her face._ You watched _helplessly_ as heartbreak filled _her_ eyes. Sandor _Fucking_ Clegane didn’t know this was a _date_ , _well neither did you_. You would have to _discipline_ her later. She had committed a _serious transgression_ by even entertaining the _idea_ of dating anyone; anyone besides _yourself_ that is. You had already given her your _number_. While you didn’t expect a call right away, you did expect fidelity on her part. You had never been angry with her before but just as your rage was building you _remembered_ what she had told that fat roommate. Sansa was _nervous_ because she hadn’t _dated_ in two years. Sandor was _obviously_ just some easy _practice_ for her. Yes, you knew she would get her _jitters_ out with him before she dated _real_ men. Your _anger_ cooled somewhat toward her and her _beautiful body_. You has watched as Sandor wrapped his _fucking_ arm around your Sansa’s waist and pulled her _close_. She looked _terrified_ and you were _helpless_ to stop him. Never again. Sansa trusted you to keep her safe.

_She belongs to you._

Arya had burst through the door just in time. You had pulled a few _favors_ with the airline to make sure her flight was as _miserable_ as possible. You even called in a _favor_ from _Walder Frey_. That decrepit old man owed you a _huge_ favor. His life had become much _easier_ without the _honorable_ Chief of Police, Ned Stark. You never _realized_ Arya Stark was such an _animal_ though. She was _disgusting_ and by leaving the door _open_ while she peed it made you wonder if she was adopted. Even her _friends_ were _filthy_ and _disgusting_. It looked like they never _bathed_ and you didn’t like the way they _leered_ at your goddess. You _smiled_  when Arya exited the bathroom and saw the man that _ruined_ so many people. He was already planning on _ruining_ Sansa but you wouldn’t let him. You _laughed_ as Arya Stark attacked Sandor like a _screeching banshee_. Your _plan_ was working better than ever, until Sandor _fell_ backward and _took_ Sansa with him. The scene had turned from a delightful _comedy_ into an absolute _nightmare_. Sansa trusted you to keep her safe.

_She belongs to you_

_Your_ goddess was currently wrapped up in the _arms_ of _Sandor Fucking Clegane_ her once beautiful blue eye was now _swollen_ shut, the flesh around it _turning_ colors. You would _never_ forgive Arya or Sandor for this _disastrous_ evening. _Sandor Clegane_ and that _Stark bitch_ would have to be dealt with. _Sooner_ rather then _later_. Everyone had quickly vacated the apartment by the end of the so-called date. They had just _abandoned_ poor Sansa; she was all alone with that _monster_. They didn’t even bother to clean up that mess they made. _Who cares about a stupid dog when a goddess has been left broken?_ _Her castle left in ruin?_ Even after her _lazy_ roommate returned home Sandor _did not leave_. The absolute _insolence_ of that man. Her fat roommate had decided to sleep in _your_ goddess room while those two stayed up on that damned couch _talking_. You _knew_ she was having trouble making friends at work but you had failed to realize it was _this_ bad. Now she had fallen asleep in the arms of a _mad man_. You _smiled_ as you picked up the phone and dialed your old acquaintance _Mal_. You had the perfect job for her. Sansa trusted you to keep her safe.

_She belongs to you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> El Creepo is back! We know how you all missed him. Don't deny it!! This chapter was inspired by the wonderful and absolutely creepy stalkery song by Cheap Trick.


	17. Highway Star

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any artistic or intellectual property borrowed within this story belong to the original author George R. R. Martin.
> 
> Jennilynn411 and Direwaggle42 are just taking these characters and places for a spin, like a mint condition mid sixties Ford Fairlane with an exterior so black its like looking into every summer night you ever spent wishing on falling stars, a maroon interior that reminds you of the blood that runs through your veins, throbbing, even now, with the thrum of the engine roaring into life like a new found appreciation for the whole fucked up universe and all its infinite glories. The same feeling as when you look out over the expanse of the dash and see an old highway, blessedly empty before you, and you know that today is going to be a good day... Oh... sorry... *clears throat* Yes... like that.
> 
> *Tunes radio to local rock station and the opening of the first track of Deep Purple's album "Machine Head" begin*  
> The fast tempo of "Highway Star" and the general awesomeness of Deep Purple helped in the writing of this chapter... I may have listened to Machine Head and Who Do We Think We Are on loop while writing this.. maybe o_0

Sandor flexed his hands and stared intently at his scuffed up old combat boots, vestiges of the punk rock youth with which he had so briefly flirted. _Well, fuck pWesteros and the whole fucking system was my motto for Sevenhells of a long time._

 

A small smile tugged at his lips and the scarred cheek stretched. The motion was not quite uncomfortable simply because the nerves were mostly dead and any sensation on that side was muted. Still, he had felt her forehead briefly graze his jaw as she had leaned into his chest, sighing like she thought he was not a bundle of frayed nerves and leather hard bitterness wrapped in plate armor of gruff anger, like he could help her hold it together. _I’ll try, Little Bird, I might not always say the right thing, but I’ll be damned to the seven if I won’t try._

The memory of how she had picked up his arm, draped it around her shoulders like he was the coarsest but most comfortable blanket flickered through his mind as he waited for Bronn. The memory shot straight to his groin and then the guilt shot straight to his sodden chunk of charcoal that passed itself off as a heart. Like the feel of her skin and her silky hair as they passed his cheek and later between his fingers, the feel of her snuggling into his side was _strange but comforting._ It had been so long since anyone had been that relaxed around him. _If anyone, even Dany, was ever that comfortable with your touch._

Sometime between Sansa falling asleep, understandably exhausted by the dinner debacle, and Sandor starting to wonder if this was what the seven hells or seven heavens would have in store for him—the sweetness of being pressed so close together and the torture of the same—Hotpie returned. _Took him bloody long enough_ , he had grumbled to himself, and then Lady hit them full force, all lolling tongue, lop sided wolf grin, and maybe just a flicker of jealousy on her husky— _hahaha yeah right, husky—_ lips.

 

_What had Hotpie said? “Your wolf nearly ate Myc more than twice, Sansa.”_ Then he looked Sandor dead in the eyes and said, _“Please tell me you can take her Ladyship to the V. E. T. this next Friday for a checkup?”_ The look of shock and embarrassment that bloomed into life with a reddening of the pale petals of Sansa’s cheeks was nearly worth him gallantly and _fucking idiotically_ agreeing with a shrug and a nonchalant ‘yeah.’ It was only later, much later after some more cuddling— _is that what we were doing? Nah, she probably was just drawn to… your warmth, like a moth to a bloody flame_ —, he had left her apartment, the last step under his heel, it finally hit him.

 

_You don’t own a godsdamned car, you pathetic prick._

 

_Not yet anyway_. The thought came with the sound of Bronn pounding on Sandor’s industrial metal studio door.

 

“Alright, alright, ya asshole, I’m coming.” Sandor bellowed. The words and the action sent him straight back to the first night he met the Little Bird. Sweeping up his brown leather jacket, Sandor shrugged it on, and opened the door wide to find a smirking Bronn leaning over the threshold.

 

“So you just,” the smiling idiot laughed with his words, “you just _suddenly_ decided you were going to go car shopping, huh?” Sandor bumped Bronn out of his doorway and locked up with a final huff and shuffle of his booted feet.

 

“Its fuckin’ time.” Sandor grated. Then he growled out a sigh. “It is godsdamned ridiculous how _inconvenient_ it is not to have a car. Buses are all well and good in the day, but they stop running after 10. Its inconvenient.” It wasn’t a lie, not really. He had _had_ to call a cab when he finally left Sansa’s apartment. And then he had _had_ to call another cab because the first one drove by but _apparently_ was unwilling to pick up the disgruntled shadow of a scarred up giant on the side of a well-lit street. “Its fucking time, okay, Bronn?”

 

“Alright.” Bronn raised his hands, backing down the stairs, his keys hooked around one thumb, jingling and glinting like the metals on a maester’s chain. “You finally getting the Destrier? I mean, I know we talked about the car show and the lot down the block from Mott’s Auto Repair Shop, but…” Bronn trailed off as he and Sandor opened the long doors to Bronn’s Wheelhouse Duskendale. Driving now the silence appeared to only be uncomfortable for one of the parties in the creamy leather interior of the vintage Wheelhouse muscle car. Sandor could get used to the feel of this fine as Dornish wine leather. On the other hand, Bronn was fidgeting more than usual in his seat and flipped the radio on and off a couple times. Finally Sandor rolled his eyes and lifted his hand to the radio dials, stilling Bronn’s movements.

 

“What is it, Bronn?” Sandor leveled his best ‘I can smell a lie’ look, letting his nostrils flare for emphasis. “It doesn’t take a fuckin’ _hound_ to sniff out something is,” Sandor shrugged, “eatin’ at you or whatever.” _Yeah, show ‘em that ten dragon vocabulary that’s gotten you bloody awards._

 

“It’s just something Tyrion said.” _The fuckin’ imp rears his little head already._ Bronn was pulling around to the front of Tobho Mott’s repair shop. “I called in to Mott’s, he’s going to keep an eye on the Duskendale here while we’re looking for that Destrier.” With a wink and the crunch of loose gravel on asphalt under his feet, Bronn had danced around what was buggering under his skin yet again.

 

_If the bastard doesn’t want to talk that’s fine by me_. Sandor conceded. He didn’t much like putting on his Hound persona outside of the written word.

 

Getting out of the long, low, and _fuckin wide_ Duskendale, Sandor slid his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. Even with _winter coming_ , it was too bright in King’s Landing. Like the sun was spitting on the place or like the great blind spot didn’t trust the city in the dark. As they passed by Mott’s Sandor’s eyes flickered into the garage out back. A young man with grease blackened hair was leaning over a truck engine. The silhouette of the shop worker looked Sevenhells of a lot like Gendry, The Bastard Bull from Fleabottom.

 

_Probably just more ghosts of Sevenmas past_. Sandor reasoned out, shoving his big paws into his pockets and turning back towards the sidewalk, Sandor caught back up with Bronn who was walking lightly, moving like a youthful cat, in leaps and bounds and funny little side hops.

 

“So, Sandor.” Bronn was hoping from one leather booted foot to the other, a know it all smile plastered on his cheerfully weathered face. “So buddy, ole pal.” Sandor rolled his eyes and was a heartbeat from snarling ‘spit it the fuck out you asshole’, but Bronn beat him to it. “I might have been calling around about your Destrier.” Grey eyes narrowed on the widely cracked smile, flickering over the sweep of hair, then watching as Bronn danced away from his arm’s reach like a boxer. “I’ve been calling around for a few weeks. Asking lots to keep me in the loop, you know.” _How does Bronn do it?_ Sandor wondered not for the first time.

 

“Why?” Sandor finally managed to get out. “I haven’t said I was—.”

 

“No you haven’t _said_ fuck all you big git. You’re nearly as liberal with your words as Hodor in the IT department.” Bronn flashed a smile and Sandor’s face scrunched up in amiable annoyance. “No, you haven’t _said_ you were interested, but,” Bronn shrugged like it was obvious, “I could tell for a while now you were edging towards being more serious about getting your Destrier.” Sandor had been saving money for the car for a few years now. “And now you finally have a great red headed incentive to get that car, right? Nothing sexier than a classic.” Bronn was suddenly nowhere near his reach as Sandor’s eyes nearly leapt out of his head and they reached the car lot in another stride.

 

“That’s not…” Sandor wouldn’t allow such a bold faced lie to pass through his lips. He would be lying his ass off if he said he hadn’t imagined giving his little bird a ride in the Destrier _or riding her in the Destrier_ if she was interested in checking out the full sized automobile’s ample back seat. _Fuck_ , he didn’t know if he thought this or breathed it under his breath because Bronn looked up with a grin that said he knew _exactly_ what gutter both of Sandor’s heads had jumped straight into.

 

“Hello, my name is Darol Hornwood, how may I help you, _gentlemen_.” The word seemed to catch funny in the slick young car salesman’s mouth. _Fuckin’ Greenboy Car Salesman._

 

“Not gentlemen.” Sandor snapped out and the Greenboy balked a little, then with a flick of his wrist to his too white starched cuffs and a tug at his hip thin little tie, the young man plastered a smile on his features.

 

“May I help you?” The unspoken ‘sirs’ nearly brought a growl from Sandor’s scarred lips but for Bronn he kept his mouth in check.

 

“Bronn Blackwater.” Bronn held out his long fingered hand in greeting. “I called about that Destrier a month ago?” _A whole fucking month, godsdamned Bronn. Were you and Dany planning on buying one for my bloody name day or something?_ Darol’s eyes went wide and his eyes slid over to Sandor like the whole bloody joke made sense now.

 

“Ah, yes. You were interested in a vintage Destrier Percheron 500, correct?” Bronn nodded and Sandor felt his jaw itching to drop. _Watering too. Who’s the green boy now?_ Sandor felt his heart flutter and his stomach tighten. _Like a green boy at his first dance_. Cars were about the only thing that had never rejected him in life, _well, cars and dogs_. So why was he so nervous?

 

Darol nodded his head and said, “follow me, lads.” _Like we’re your fuckin’ friends, you good looking, slick haired, dick._ They wound their way through the car lot from the newest cars up front to the ‘gently used’ and ‘previously owned’ vehicles to the vintage and classic cars of yesteryear at the very back. Darol was speaking all the while, joking with Bronn, and shooting nervous glances back at Sandor. Then it was right in front of him.

 

_There it is. All my youthful dreams rolled up into three and a half tons of smooth cool black metal and white wall tires and_ —. Sandor’s mind went blank.

 

“I’m sorry we couldn’t find the standard maroon interior that came with this year. The ’66, as you know, came in maroon leather, cherry red leather or cloth, white leather, and tan leather or cloth.” Sandor moved forward with his fingers splayed before him both desperately wanting to run his hands over the lines of the gorgeous black beast and desperately afraid the car would dissolve into morning dew if he touched it. His brow furrowed. _It is perfect. It has everything._

 

“No,” he choked out. “This is the interior I’ve always wanted, _Daren_.” He grumbled at last, words falling from his lips like the sounds of tin cans bouncing on paved streets in the wake of a pair of newlyweds.

 

 Out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw Darol twitch and Bronn rolling his eyes while turning aside so as not to laugh directly in the greenboy car salesman's face.

 

As Sandor moved his hand to grab the chrome handle, Darol stepped in, passing him the key. Turning the key in the driver’s door and hearing the solid thunk of the movements turning, he pulled the long door open and slid into the spacious interior. Even in the early morning air and under the heat of the sun, the leather was cool like jazz and smooth like the best bourbon Sandor had ever sipped. Someone had already moved the seat far enough back to make his large frame fit snuggly but comfortably. The dark charcoal grey leather seats reflected the softer almost velveteen grey cloth hard top lining. The lighter grey steering wheel felt almost as good under his fingertips as the Little Bird’s auburn locks had felt, sliding through his fingers like the softest fire. In the center of the wide steering wheel leapt the original Destrier logo. A rampant horse over a small oval, which Sandor knew was once a more explicitly depicted human head, was picked out in marigold. Little details, edgings and certain pieces of plastic, like the updated radio, stood out in the specialty Destrier yellow. The color had been introduced during the first years the car was being produced. It was clear to Sandor that the owner of this Percheron had been careful to maintain the authenticity of the color pallet when she or he modified aspects of the interior.

 

“This is perfect.” He looked up at Darol who looked a little worried that Sandor was going to start licking and kissing the car before Sandor had put money down on the beauty. “I’d like to take it for a test drive, then check out the specs, under the hood, any paperwork on history and repairs and modifications you have.” Unspoken were the words ‘and then I am going to pay you good money and drive away with the purr of this motor promising better night sleep and insight into the universe or at least women.’ _Wasn’t that what cars usually got men?_

 

The next hour and a half was spent driving around the greater Street of Steel district, taking the Percheron 500 onto the faster roads around the edges of King’s Landing, then back to the shop to look under the hood, and allow Sandor time to inspect the car with a fine toothed comb.

 

At one point Bronn had leaned over, or tried his best to lean over Sandor’s thick shoulder and murmured, “you don’t have to decide today, man.” Sandor had shot him a look that might have wilted men made of sterner stuff, but Bronn didn’t even flinch. The man just smirked and looked to Darol as if to say ‘you can send me a thank you bottle of Drogon’s Fire Whiskey later’.

 

Then it came time for Sandor to sign paperwork and write out a check. And he had never been more ready to sign his name to anything in his life.

 

“Alright, enjoy your beaut!” Doral smiled out through gritted teeth. Sandor saw Bronn grab a slip of paper from off a telephone pole near the front of the lot. Sandor pulled the Percheron around, the thrum of the motor setting his racing mind and butterfly filled stomach at ease. Bronn dropped like a bucket of water into the Percheron, legs splayed and fingers of his free hand running over the dash. The stork’s other hand still held the crumpled piece of paper. Sandor waited for the click of Bronn’s seat belt and then the two were on the road for one last turn around the block before Sandor dropped Bronn off at the Duskendale and they headed over to the vintage car show on 15th.

 

_That bloody idiot knew I’d be getting this fuckin’ car_. Sandor glanced over at Bronn who was reading the dayglow piece of paper.

 

“What’s that, huh?” Sandor queried, feeling like he was teetering towards being on top of the world and fearing the feeling of when his stomach and everything else dropped out from under him. _Because that’s the way this shit world works. Good things happen and then the rest of life shits on you._ Sandor sighed, _not today, any other day, but not today_.

 

Bronn read from the paper, “*Live This Friday at Club Oloi5/ The Great DJ Battle 2015/ DJ Sassy Eggs VS The Dornish Jedi/ Who will WIN?!? You Decide!*.” Sandor thought that sounded like one of the stupidest excuses for a good night that anyone had ever come up with, but when Bronn’s next words were to ask if he would be willing to go with Margaery and himself Sandor nodded mutely.

 

As they came abreast with the Duskendale, Bronn was smiling into his lap looking at the paper like it was going to turn into a slyly smiling minx at any moment.

 

“This will be perfect, Sandor.” Bronn grinned. “Margaery keeps talking about wanting to go out clubbing more. And after Sansa’s scare, I know Tyrion wanted to get back out and try to get her out too.” Bronn’s mouth flapped silently for a few moments as if his brain was replaying what he had just said and the realization of his slip up was falling down on his shoulders like a bag of cement. The lean man opened his mouth and began to reach for the Percheron door handle but Sandor’s right hand landed heavily on the back of his neck and kept him in place.

 

“Sansa’s… scare?” Sandor’s voice was the harsh sound of a metal flank scraping against a guard rail.

 

Bronn cringed.

“Fuck, she didn’t want anyone else to know.” He had the decency to blush a little, but Sandor did not give a fuck if Bronn felt remorse. “Look, Tyrion got a call from her last week and the girl was all shook up. It turned out to be nothing but she and her beast were both _certain_ that someone had gotten into her apartment.” Sandor released Bronn and the man breathed an audible sigh of relief. Bronn was rubbing the back of his neck. “She hated the idea that she was getting on our nerves calling for help, like her needing someone occasionally was a,” Bronn waved his hands a bit searching for a word, “an inconvenience.”

 

It all was beginning to make sense now, the way she had already been so frayed and nervous at the dinner date that never happened. Sandor felt like more of an asshole that usual, _which is fucking saying something_ a voice piped up.

 

Bronn sighed.

 

“Tyrion is going to kick the shit out of my shins now. He said I’d be the one to blab.” _Well, the imp can be a good judge of character sometimes_. Bronn let his head hang but a small part of Sandor thought maybe there was something edging towards the glint of a cunning smile in Bronn’s attempts to look more remorseful. “You’re still down for the DJ battle though, right?” And there it was. The calculating smirk was back on his friend’s lips. Sandor puffed out a breath and nodded. “But you’re going to go call up your _Little Bird_ now aren’t you? Rain check on the car show, then?” Sandor wanted to smack his head into his brand new _vintage Destrier Percheron 500’s_ limited edition grey and yellow steering wheel.

 

“I,” he cleared his throat when his voice came out horse. “Nah,” _play it cool_ , “she’s got my number, I’m sure.” He shrugged. He would be checking his phone constantly now. _But whatever, anything to save face, right? Or save what’s left of this burnt out junker of a mug_. _Gods forbid someone knew you had more emotions that anger, annoyance, and vague tolerance._ “If she needs us, she’ll call us.” Bronn rolled his eyes at the obvious emphasis on ‘us.’ The man’s sparkling eyes said _us, yeah right, keep fooling yourself, big man_. “I’ll leave a message on the drive to the car show, alright?” Bronn shrugged and got out of Sandor’s car. _The rest of my life is going to be like this isn’t it? Bronn’s going to let his eyes roll out of his head if he’s not careful_. Sandor grit his teeth and flipped open his phone. _Do I even have her number?_ _Fuck_. But there it was, squared away, and if Sandor couldn’t remember when he had put her number in, it didn’t bother him for very long. The sound of her recorded voicemail message made his heart pound and his stomach churn more than looking at the Destrier Percheron 500 ever could have.


	18. Hit Me With Your Best Shot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning my little lemon drops! Without further ado Direwaggle and I are proud to present…. A Sansa POV!!!!!!

Sansa woke up to the sounds of Lady barking and growling. Someone was knocking on her door. _It’s too early._ Sansa grumbled to herself as she stumbled sleepily to her door. She pulled Sandor’s coat tighter around her body. Lately her dreams had been full of nightmares and wearing his coat to bed was the only thing that kept them at bay. The once beautiful suit coat was now wrinkled beyond recognition. _I promise I’ll dry clean it before I give back to him_. She peeked through the peephole and saw Bronn fidgeting in the hall. _By the Seven, what could he want at this hour?_ She opened the door wider and stared at him blankly. Bronn seemed surprised by her appearance.

 “Can I help you?” She asked him while yawning. Lady pushed past her to sniff Bronn’s pant leg curiously. They had met before but Lady was her ever cautious companion.

 “Umm, Sansa good morning.” Bronn was staring her messy hair. He cleared his throat before continuing. “Sandor asked me to pick you up on the way to work this morning. He had planned to do it himself but he was called into work early.”

 Sansa just blinked at Bronn. “That’s real sweet of you Bronn, but I don’t go to work for a few hours yet.” She stifled yet another yawn. It’s not even 6:00 in the morning. He just smirked at her like he knew some big secret. _What is so funny?_

 “I don’t want to alarm you Sansa but it’s 7:00.” Sansa felt her eyes go wide as raced back into her apartment. Lady and Bronn were following closely behind. Her coffee pot wasn’t self-brewing and all her clocks were blinking. _Gods! There must have been a power outage last night!_ She looked at Bronn, shifted her gaze to Lady and then back to Bronn.

 “Please Bronn.” She looked at him and began to shift from one foot to the other. She bit her lower lip and pleaded with him with her big blue eyes. Bronn just looked at her and sighed. He picked up the dog leash hanging off the back of the door and began hooking up an excited Lady. Sansa jumped up and down clapping in gratitude.

 “She likes to pee right across the street by the little tree.” She pointed out the window and Bronn sighed and left muttering something about never doing a favor for Sandor again. Sansa practically ran to the bathroom to hop in the shower.

 When Sansa had finished her lightning quick shower she wrapped a fuzzy lemon yellow towel around her body and left the steamy bathroom. She stopped abruptly when she saw Ramsay Snow standing inside the doorway to her apartment. He was holding up her Blood Red Anona high heel and licking it. _Gods! Did he just lick my designer shoe?_ _That shoe came exclusively from the exclusive Anona Fall Collection!_ She instinctively reached behind her for her trusty bat, but it was gone. She grabbed the next best thing a large dictionary from her bookcase and chucked it at him. _Smack!_ It hit him square in the chest.

 “Ramsay, get out of my apartment!”

Ramsay made an _oof_ sound, dropped her shoe and dove behind what was left of her kitchen table. Sansa readied another book and waited; every time that little weasel popped up he ended up being clocked with more books.

 “Quit throwing your shit at me Bitch!”

 POW! Sansa chucked another book so hard it smacked him right in the forehead. He yelped and ducked down once more.

 “There is plenty more where that came from you demon spawn!” She hurled another book in his general direction.

 “GET OUT OF MY APARTMENT NOW, BEFORE I CALL THE COPS!”

 She was screaming and throwing so many books at him she failed to notice that her towel had slid open, completely exposing the left side of her body. Sansa was filled with a white hot blinding rage. She remembered what Arya had told her about what that bastard used to do outside her window _. If he came in here to spank his eel inside my shoe I will cut his eel right off._ Lady came running back into the apartment barking and snarling, she pounced on the hiding Ramsay and had him pinned down.

 “Get this fucking beast off me!” Ramsay voice cracked and she knew he was terrified. _Good._

 “Gods! Sansa are you alright?” Bronn had come running in panting. He was bent over with his hands pressed on his thighs trying to catch his breath. He stood back up when he saw Lady on top of Ramsay, hackles raised and barring her teeth. Lady had obviously run away from Bronn to rescue her beloved owner. _Good Girl._

 Suddenly Roose Bolton barged into her apartment, gun drawn, eyes wild.

 “Miss Stark, are you alright?” Roose surveyed the scene before him. Lady had successfully pinned Ramsay down, Bronn had somehow run into the kitchen and Sansa was holding a dusty Encyclopedia Volantis high above her head.

 He crossed the room quickly to be at her side his gun still drawn. He bent down slowly to pick up the left side of her towel that had fallen down. He stood back up slowly and Sansa knew his eyes were trailing all over her wet naked body. The left side anyway. O _f course he’s looking at you stupid! He is a man and you are standing half naked in front of him!_ Sansa felt a well of sadness explode inside of her and she gladly dropped the book she was holding so she could quickly adjusted the towel. She was trying to restore some sense of modesty and yet she knew that she had failed. Every man in that room had now seen most of her scars from the knife attack. _At least they haven’t seen my back._   

 “Don’t cover yourself up on my account Sansa.” Ramsay said. “You are still as beautiful as I remember.”, Sansa gasped and took an immediate step behind Roose. She wished Sandor was here. _He would have snapped you like a twig skeezeball._

 Roose slowly raised his gun and pointed it at Ramsay’s head. _Gods!_

Ramsay’s eyes widened and he began stammering out a lame excuse for being there. “You see Sansa I was just visiting a relative down the hall and I just happened to see your door open. I only stopped bye to say hello. This is just a big misunderstanding.” He couldn’t take his eyes off the gun. _Wait, I am living near Ramsay’s family? Gods!_

 “Miss Stark I will handle this.” Roose Bolton’s words were calm but the tone was deadly. He strode over to Ramsay and Lady slowly got off of him to return to her mistress, growling all the while.

 “Are you going to kill him?” Sansa immediately gasped and covered her mouth. _You can’t just ask a mobster that stupid!_ Sansa didn’t know if Roose Bolton was a mobster exactly but the way he was holding that gun made her think that he was.

 Roose Bolton turned and gave her a thoughtful look. “Would you like me too Miss Stark?”

 Sansa was so surprised at the question she could almost feel her eyes popping out of her head. “Umm no?” her voice was shaking so she cleared her throat. “What I mean is no thank you Mr. Bolton. It was kind of you to offer though.”

 Roose gave her an almost disappointed look. “Very well Miss Stark.” He turned his full attention back to Ramsay. “Ramsay what exactly are doing in Miss Starks apartment?” _He knows Ramsay?_

 ”For some reason Sansa decided now was the perfect opportunity to open her big stupid trap. “I found him in the doorway, he was licking my shoe.” Sansa felt the white hot rage taking over again as she thrust a finger in Ramsay’s direction. “That was an Anona shoe, and now I have to burn it!”

 Roose didn’t say anything to her he just stood silently over Ramsay and gripped the bastard’s arm. In one fluid movement he violently jerked Ramsay upward. Ramsay winced as they stood face to face. Roose was pressing his gun into the gut of a one terrified Ramsay Snow.

 “Now you listen to me boy. You will never enter Miss Starks residence ever again are we clear?” Roose Bolton was almost snarling. Ramsay just weekly nodded at the older man. “You will clean up whatever mess you created for Miss Stark at her place of business and then you will never speak to her again. If you so much as look at her sideways… well my boy, they won’t find the pieces of your body.” Roose was speaking so softly Sansa almost didn’t hear him.

 Sansa was too stunned to move. She knew Mr. Bolton was a dangerous man but she had never feared for her life when she was with him. Sansa felt as though ice was now flowing through her veins. She could almost hear her fathers voice whisper, _Winter has come_. Her heart was beating so loudly she was sure everyone in the room could hear it. She could feel a panic attack trying to claw it’s way out of her. _Not now please, it’s too dangerous._ Sansa gulped and noticed that Ramsay had wet himself.

 Roose holstered his gun, and walked out the door dragging Ramsay behind him. He stopped and turned one final time to look at Sansa. “I must apologize for my sons behavior. He has never been anything but a disappointment to me.” He left with a defeated looking Ramsay and Sansa let out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding. _Gods!_ _Ramsay is the son of Roose Bolton._ Sansa clutched her towel tighter as her mind processed this new information. When Bronn suddenly spoke she jumped so high she almost lost her towel again.

 “Fucking Gods Sansa! Fuck! Fuckity fuck, fuck! What the fucking hell was that? Fucking Ferret Face is Rooses fucking son? Fuck!” _He certainly uses the word fuck creatively._ “We need to find you a new fucking apartment yesterday.” Sansa couldn’t have said it better herself. Bronn walked toward her and Sansa noticed he was gripping a carving knife from the kitchen. _When did he pick that up?_ Sansa just looked at Bronn and shrugged her damp shoulders.

 “I’m sorry I made you late for work Bronn.” She mumbled not really sure what to do.

Bronn just threw back his head and laughed. “It’s not your fault, besides Tyrion texted earlier and said the ‘class’ was pushed back. If you hurry and get dressed we should be able to make it on time.” He scratched his head and looked in her eyes. He had now seen most of her scars but instead of looking at her with pity he just looked at her with concern. “Sansa, do you even want to go to work?”

 She took a big breath and steadied herself. “Yes Bronn I want to go. I am certainly not safe here.” She gestured at the mess in the apartment. “I just need a moment to myself.” She walked into her bedroom followed by a concerned Lady and shut the door.

 Sansa sat on the bed and did controlled breathing techniques while lady nuzzled her palms. Ramsay is Roose Bolton’s son. Ramsay is also terrified of his father. Arya had once told her the best way to win a fight was to learn her enemies weaknesses and use it against them. Is this what she meant? What should I do? Sansa had a lot to mull over and longed to feel the strength of Sandor’s arms about her.       

 Sansa sighed and stood up to face the mirror. She was still sporting a black eye but at least the swelling had gone down. She picked up a spongy hair roller off her dresser and threw it at her reflection while shouting “I’m not scared of Ramsay Snow anymore!”

 Bronn yelled back from the living room. “Good! We both saw him fucking piss his pants!” She heard Bronn voice growing louder and she knew he was resting on the back of her door. “Hey I know, how about we just call him Ramsay Pee Pee from now on!” Sansa felt herself actually smile at that remark. “I would be more than happy to spread the word he’s a shoe licker.”

 Sansa giggled at the thought of Ramsay Pee Pee being printed on the front of his stupid fancy business cards. _Vice President of marketing my ass!_ A short while later she emerged from her room. Her hair had been pulled back into a long stylish braid and she was now wearing a black wrap around dress with matching knee high boots. Bronn was busy texting when she emerged. He whistled at her outfit causing her to blush. They both gathered up their things to leave but Lady was whining and blocking the door, she did not want to be left behind. Sansa kissed her K9 best friend and texted Hotpie to pick her up ASAP. She would explain everything to him later.

 On the drive to the office Sansa decided to ask Bronn a million questions. She was full of nerves and his calm demeanor was comforting to be around “Do you think Sandor will like my outfit?” Bronn just winked at her causing her to blush. “Do think he will help me find a new place if I ask him?” Bronn just laughed and nodded a resounding yes. She didn’t know what was so funny. The rest of the ride they spent talking about DJ Sassy Eggs vs The Dornish Jedi. She was team Sassy but Bronn was fond of the Jedi’s original beats. Tonight was the battle and Sansa had been so excited Sandor had asked her to go.

They took a relatively empty elevator up to the top floor for the dreaded Sexual Harassment 101 Seminar. Bronn had just finished telling her a completely inappropriate joke about a Dothraki Warrior, a Dornish Widow and a missing cookie. She was still giggling about in when the elevator doors opened and they walked into the conference room. All the laughter died on their collective lips however when they both spied a busty brunette laughing loudly and resting her head on Sandor’s shoulder. _Who does this hussy think she is?_

 Sansa was instantly filled desire to crawl across that boardroom table and plant a hot passionate kiss on the lips of Sandor Clegane. She wished she had a flag or something to stake her claim. Sansa suddenly felt very self-conscious about her B Cup sized bra. This _skank_ leaning up against Sandor was clearly a DD _._ Sansa was too dumbstruck to do much of anything besides stare. This mystery woman had her arm wrapped around Sandor’s massive bicep. _That’s my bicep; I mean Sandor’s bicep._ Petyr Baelish stood up and offered her a chair, _like a true gentleman._ She gave him her sweetest smile as he gently pushed her chair back in. _At least Mr. Baelish noticed I came in. Sandor hasn’t even looked up yet._ Bronn who had been standing in a statue like trance spoke up suddenly.

 “Mal, please untangle yourself from my friend, before I throw up. Sandor’s not your type anyway. I thought you only preferred to ruin the lives of married men?” He sat down next to Sansa in a huff. Sandor practically jumped away from this _Mal_ girl like she had the plague. Sandor looked down the table at Sansa his beautiful eyes were full of guilt. _Good!_

 “What’s the matter Bronn? You were so busy picking up Little Miss Perfect here that you couldn’t even save me a seat?” Sansa and Bronn both turned around in their chairs to see Margaery Tyrell standing over them glaring. Sansa felt her jaw drop and she swore she heard Bronn gasp. Margaery was indeed angry but she was also _orange_.

           

           

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was fun! Thank you Pat Benatar for writing the amazing song we chose for our title. *Sits back and eagerly awaits responses*


	19. Taking Care of Business

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All intellectual or artistic property borrowed within this story belong to the original author George R. R. Martin. Direwaggle42 and Jennilynn411 are just taking these characters for a spin, like a maserati on any road *drools over maserati*... *cough cough* sorry, back to business.
> 
> Jennilynn411 and Direwaggle42 wish to inform our lovely lemon drops that due to graduate school starting and the non-summer work beginning, Stars Over Essos will update at a slower pace. 
> 
> We have loved getting to update two or three times a week, and, even given both our hectic schedules, during the summer this was possible. During the Fall, Winter, and Spring, we will be even busier, and that level of publishing productivity will simply not be possible. *hangs heads in sadness*
> 
> Still, we are very thankful that each of you has traveled the SOE road with us so far and we hope you will continue to do so!

It was perhaps a half hour before the _much anticipated_ sexual harassment class was to meet when Tyrion received a quick phone call from Bronn. The snuffling and grumbling on what sounded _remarkably_ like a dog’s register caused him to quirk an eyebrow even though no one was around to see it.

 

“Bronn, if this is a call in the midst of one of your and Ms. Tyrell’s kinkier role play sexcapades, I have to tell you I am equal parts appalled and intrigued. No.” He raised a stubby fingered hand before himself as he leaned against the cool wood of his desk, _stop in the name of free love_. “No, actually I’m certainly leaning towards appalled. It is twenty til the hour, Bronn, even _I_ wouldn’t—.” Somewhere on the other end of the line Bronn was laughing, _braying really_. Then the distinctive bark of Lady shushing him came through the receiver to silence the uproarious cackling and Tyrion sighed.

 

“It’s too damn early in the morning to lie to a friend like that, Tyrion.” Bronn was still chuckling. “You _wouldn’t_. That’s rich. Rich for a Lannister, even! Now that Lady has put in her Half Groat, you can guess where I am.” Bronn huffed a few breaths like he and Lady had run a short distance. “Picking up Sansa, but—.” Tyrion cut in, massaging the bridge of his nose with index and thumb.

 

“You’re both running a wee bit late are you?” Bronn grunted affirmatively and Tyrion shook his head. “What will I do with you two? I’ll handle it.” Tyrion pushed off of his desk and began looking through his drawers for an appropriate rouse. _Lemon Delights? Candied Orange Rinds? There is an awful lot of sweets in my desk_. Tyrion tut-tuted to himself. “I thought,” Tyrion hummed out as he found just the item he was looking for, a box of the very best Chocolate Covered Dornish Red Cherry Liquors, “I say, I thought that Sansa’s not-a-knight-in-shining-armor was on board with carpooling with Sansa, since they live close enough and well.” _And well, it is obvious those two are thick heads over stumbling heels for each other._

 

“Sandor would have but he was called into SOE early.” Lady barked loudly and Bronn gave a groan, his strained voice surely reflected how Lady must be pulling. “I gotta let you go, Tyrion, I think we have a situa—.” The call cut off and Tyrion was left staring at the brightly lit screen. _Just let this not be a situation that causes that poor girl any more emotional distress than she has already experienced._

Tucking his phone away, Tyrion sauntered over to Varys’ office. The man in silken robes was nowhere in sight. Slipping in, Tyrion tucked the box of cherries on his desk with a quick note: ‘Hope your little birds enjoy this treat, Spider. Favors for favors. 9 and not 8.’

 

Brushing his hands off on his vest, Tyrion made a beeline back to his office for the candied orange rinds and then down to the domain of his _very favorite_ head of HR. Slipping into her office, leaving the door open, he smiled up at her and she raised an elegant eyebrow. _She’s too smart to fall for lies._ Tyrion knew this from seeing more than a few block headed SOE workers try to pull one over on the extremely pregnant woman.

 

“Mrs. Clara.” Tyrion let his lips stretch wide and added an extra sparkle to his eyes. “How _radiant_ you are looking this _early_ morning.” Mrs. Clara blushed then rolled her eyes.

 

“Mr. Lannister, you know I love your honey dipped words but,” Tyrion took the orange rinds from behind his back and held them out as a peace offering, “are those?” He nodded. _Yes, yes they are Essos imported candied citrus rinds, picked by free hands from the free cities, fair trade certified._ “Alright.” She took them carefully, reverently, from his hands and stowed them in a drawer by her right knee. “Let’s hear what you’ve got to say this time, Mr. Lannister.”

 

 

 

Tyrion thought he might have a reprieve from the excitement of the morning but as he was leaving the HR office, the chrome and dark wood door shutting behind him with an air of finality to the morning’s activities, the _old dog himself_ nearly bowled over him.

 

“Watch where you’re going, Clegane!” Tyrion grumbled from the place on the wall where he had been pressed. After nearly being smeared into the spackling like a bug on a windshield, Tyrion glared up the trunk of Clegane’s massive body. Grey eyes moved over to him like a storm front across a skyline. _He looks like he’s been run from the top of the Building of the High Sparrow to Hodor’s basement lair and back again._ “What’s up, big guy?” Sandor squinted at him and then shot a look over his thick shoulder.

 

“I’ll tell you what’s up, _Imp_.” Tyrion could nearly hear the ‘fucks’ and ‘godsdamned’ that would pepper Clegane’s usual syntax outside of the workspace. “I get a call from out of the bloody blue from the PR and advertising department _requiring_ my presence an hour before _that_ ,” a sound like an anvil dropping on an accordion playing mummer burbled from Clegane’s throat, “idiotic harassment class is supposed to suck away another hour and a half of my already tightly packed day.” Clegane took a breath and the man’s lips were twitching more than a bug on a skillet. “And then,” down the hall came a wave of shrilly girlish giggling akin to a Guinea fowl being strangled by a weak handed farmer. “And then _that_ appears.” No explanation for what or whom _that_ was given to Tyrion as for the first time in his life he saw Sandor ‘The Hound’ Clegane turn tail and take off a clip that would put the fastest Baratheon Stags to shame.

 

_Today is just getting weirder and weirder_. Tyrion mused as he made his way back to his office. He had a little under an hour to kill before the fateful Sex Ed class. _Sexual Harassment seminar, that is, of course._ He had no intention of getting there on time. _To be on time is to be five minutes late. Funny, isn’t that the exact opposite of what dear old dad taught me?_ His cellphone buzzed in his pocket and for the moment, Tyrion ignored it. When the phone buzzed again, alerting him of three successive messages, Tyrion reached into the shallow depths of his dark heather slacks to find the panicking device. _Who could it be? Not Bronn again, surely_.

 

Tyrion read the first message and read it again. Then, turning his phone off for a moment he tilted his head, took a breath, and brought the message screen back up again. Reading through the now five messages left by Bronn, Tyrion’s stomach dropped the short distance to the floor with an almost audible splat.

 

‘Bolton/SNOW w/ Sansa’ read the first text, a few random letters peppered the disjointed message but the meaning was clear.

 

‘Lady got that sick ferret on the floor’ followed by ‘gone now thanks 2 the fucking creepy Mr B’ read the second and third messages and the rest were sent as explanation with mildly better typing.

 

The last message that Tyrion scrolled past forced a sigh from his stocky chest.

 

‘U told me S had been thru shit with J and I believed u but’ and that was all the text said. It ended as if the sender had sent it too soon or maybe thought better of sending it at all and the gods had intervened.

 

Tyrion quickly typed out, ‘Is she alright?’ and watched the icon blink and still as the message winged its way across town. A handful of seconds later came the reply.

‘As alright as she can be’ read the short text.

 

Bronn had seen her scars, he assumed, which meant Ramsay Snow and Roose Bolton had seen them too. _Which means of course that the eldest Stark was somehow laid bare to their eyes_. He shuddered to think how that had happened. He would find out though.

 

‘Is she staying at home or going to work? You and I need to talk. If she needs you to stay with then I’ll work my magic and get you and her a sick day’.

 

Minutes passed as Tyrion drummed his fingers on his desk waiting for Bronn’s answer. He nearly leapt out of his skin when his phone buzzed again.

 

‘Going 2 work. we’ll b there directly’ was sent with the message ‘We need 2 get hound 2 look over S’s apt. Donkno how Mr B or Snow got in. S might’ve been right about the break in’. And then radio silence for the time Tyrion thought it might have taken to get downstairs and into Bronn’s Duskendale. ‘Will b there soon. Meeting in the boys on floor number 2 during first break’.

 

Tyrion sent a ‘Yes’ and then after a second thought a ‘See you there’, and let his phone go to black. _In a half hour I’ll be seeing Shae, that’s something at least._ Tyrion cracked his neck and stuffed his phone in his pants pocket. Hopping off his chair, he decided to spend the fifteen odd minutes before Bronn arrive, _if traffic in the Red Keep district hasn’t gotten backed up_ , putting out feelers. _Varys has his little birds, but Clegane and I have our own Little Bird to look out for._

 

 

 

Tyrion entered the class as he had intended, five or six minutes late. Shae was at the front of the small conference room, Varys and Mrs. Clara standing beside her. Slipping into an open seat by— _good gods what horrible B grade horror movie highjinxs led to Margaery turning into the Beast from the Orange Lagoon?_ He had heard of the popular MryFlix drama ‘Orange is the New Black’, but Tyrion had no idea young women were taking it quite so seriously. Margaery sniffed, shooting a dangerously jaded glance towards Bronn and Sansa, before looking down her pixie nose at Tyrion.

 

“Don’t say a word, Lannister.” She seethed. Tyrion raised his hands and let all comments fall silent. _She should be the poster girl for why spray tans are a dangerous avenue to explore._

 

Pulling Tyrion’s head around with a sharp jerk, the giggling asphyxiation of another small fowl cascaded from the side of the room darkened by one very disgruntled looking Clegane brother. Sandor leaned back with his eyes wide and alarmed. From his side the giggling erupted once more and a busty young woman leaned forward, clutching at Clegane’s arm. Tyrion looked furtively to Sansa and found the young woman had put on a mask of indifference that he had not seen since Joffrey was still in the picture. But behind the mask, Tyrion could see anger and the kind of short tempered jealously only ever brought on by new love.

 

“Excuse me, Miss?” Mrs. Clara stepped forward. Her brows were furrowed and her cat eye glasses were flashing more brightly than the bubbling young woman’s too white smile.

 

“Everyone at Bolton Promotions just called me Mal.” She stood, her ass nearly pressed to Sandor’s face, holding her hand out to Mrs. Clara. The man, in his defense, was doing an incredible job of keeping his eyes up and focused on Mrs. Clara.

 

“Ms. Mal, are you aware of SOE dress regulations and,” Mrs. Clara glanced coldly at the buxom young woman’s hand and then looked sharply between Bronn and Margaery, “the policies on office fraternization on SOE premises?” Mal dropped her hand and composed her face into an innocent naiveté Tyrion would be dollars to lemon filled donuts that Mal had not possessed in years. Mrs. Clara crooked a finger at Mal and the young woman bowed her head and sashayed her way to the front of the conference room. A few quiet words passed between them and Mal demurely floated out of the room like a ten stag hooker on Friday night.

 

Mrs. Clara gave a quick reminder to everyone about the SOE dress code and the general guidelines concerning fraternization before she exited the room and left it in Shae and Varys’ capable hands.

 

Forty-five minutes flew by as quickly as they could.

 

_They probably can only keep us all in one room at one time for forty-five minutes before they start to worry that an orgy will break out like case of hives._ Tyrion laughed to himself as he heard Shae dismiss the seminar for a fifteen minute break. _She could read the phone book and I would be riveted_ , Tyrion thought wistfully. Bronn jerked his head towards the door in a subtle motion of ‘move your ass’. Sansa squinted at Bronn then squinted at Tyrion, her eyes only lingering long enough on the clearly miserable Sandor to squint grumpily at him. Tyrion shrugged at Sansa and followed Bronn out of the room. _She’s a smart girl, she knows we’re up to something_. For now, it was better in Tyrion’s mind if he and Bronn had this conversation alone. _Plus it might be more than a blip on Mrs. Clara’s radar if we dragged you into the men’s room._

 

 

 

_Haven’t needed to use the old emergency office in a while. Really, this place right here should be the founding location of The Lone Bastards and Broken Cups Drinking Club—but would that really be fair to all the bars and dives that have been redecorated with their own liquor after a night of excess by the individual members of our pathetic troop?_

 

Tyrion slipped into the second floor men’s restroom alongside Bronn. The man looked remarkably unshaken. Lean shoulders slung low like his olive drab trousers, hands in his pockets, as if his entire outfit and person were held together by invisible threads of effortless nonchalance, Bronn padded around the room checking stalls. Tyrion leaned against the cool grey and lavender tiles inside and then Bronn checked the door, a shrug of his shoulders and a flick of his right foot to closing it more securely, left them alone to talk.

 

“Don’t you look,” Bronn trailed off as he ran his eyes up from Tyrion’s tapping foot to his heavily furrowed brows, tall forehead hardly lending his expression any softness. “So, this morning.”

 

“Yes, Bronn, this morning.” Tyrion thought he sounded a bit like Clegane. _Although I probably sound more like a yapping little mop of a dog rather than a rumbling junk yard hound._ “Perhaps I misinterpreted your texts—the first couple were rather garbled—but am I correct in believing that Roose Bolton and Ramsay Snow—.”

 

“Bolton, actually. Not Snow, he is biologically a Bolton.” Bronn interrupted and Tyrion shuddered a sigh, rubbing his cheeks with both small hands. “I was…surprised, too.”

 

“At this point, why are either of us surprised? Bolton & Son, then, got into Sansa’s flat and _neither_ of you know how that happened?” Bronn gave an ‘eeyup’, rocked back on his heels, while vigorously nodding his head, strands of straw hair falling across his forehead. “A random break in in a fairly secure apartment building is an anomaly, but once two Boltons are thrown into the mix, well…” Tyrion hummed as he paced the porcelain office.

 

“I _think_ ,” Bronn appeared to be wracking his brain, “that it was ferret face who was in the apartment first.” Tyrion eyed his friend as the man snapped his fingers. “No I’m certain that shoe licker,” Tyrion did not even want to know, “was there first. He said he ‘saw the door open’.” Bronn started muttering about the precise metric weight of bull shit that that particular statement equated. “Bolton junior seemed pretty frightened of his father. Ferret face was trying to explain himself and make excuses.”

 

“Perhaps for now we can assume that the son was so desperate to explain his presence because Daddy Bolton did in fact arrive in Sansa’s apartment second.” Bronn nodded. “But we can hardly assume that the door was truly open.”

 

“That’s why I think we need Sandor to sniff out if anything was left behind after the possible break in. You, Sandor, and I need to have a much longer conversation about this at some point.” Tyrion found himself sighing. “We should have taken her more seriously.” _And isn’t that just the phrase of the century here in Westeros. ‘We should have taken her more seriously’ could be the whole nation’s bloody motto._

“Convincing Clegane to help shouldn’t be an issue.” Bronn rolled his eyes. Tyrion had to agree with the sentiment. “But if either of those,” he was loath to say ‘men’ because neither were cut from a very _humane_ cloth, “creeps have free access to her apartment, then is she safe going home after work tonight?” Bronn winced.

 

“Well, she won’t be going home directly, or at least not alone, I don’t think.” Bronn was mumbling into his checked fawn and burgundy tie. “That is to say,” he raised his eyes to chance a glance at Tyrion, “we were going to go to Club Olio5.”

 

“ _We?”_ Tyrion repeated. _Was I invited? This week has been madness, maybe I was. But there goes two of the leading members of the Lonely Bastard’s Club._ Tyrion cursed himself. _I knew I should have talked to Bronn about the t-shirts before he was swept away in the tides of a woman’s arms._

 

“Margaery and I, and Sansa and Sandor.” Bronn had the decency to at least appear sheepish. _More a wolf in sheep’s clothing._ “I thought I mentioned it to you?” The uptick at the end of the ‘ew’ in ‘you’ made it seem as if Bronn was caught between knowing full well he had not and being certain he _could_ have mentioned it to Tyrion. _I can pass you a shovel if you want to dig that hole for yourself more quickly, Bronny ole buddy ole pal_. “You could invite Shae you know.” _Nice misdirect, my friend. I’ll let you go this round_.

 

“Maybe. After the second half of that class, maybe. First, forget the club, we need to get back on task. Roose and Ramsay—.” The door to the restroom swung open and the pale and putrid devil himself slunk into Tyrion and Bronn’s porcelain office.

 

“Hello, lads.” Ramsay smirked, the young man sidled up to the urinal next the one Bronn stood beside. A zipper slipped down with a hiss between Ramsay’s pale fingers. Both men had to hide their distaste as Ramsay lifted himself from his light grey and black pinstripe slacks, the sound of piss splashing off the urinal only half as disconcerting as the way Ramsay was looking at them as he peed. Bronn shrugged his shoulders and turned to his own urinal.

 

Bronn gave a quiet grunt and began peeing. Ramsay smirked and opened his mouth.

 

“So what were you two talking—.” Bronn turned his body, eyes wide in a mask of surprise, hips shifting with his torso, a beautiful arch of piss, like a pale amber rainbow, dashed across the space between the men to stain the younger man’s pants.

 

“Oh,” Bronn gasped. His voice a little higher than usual, “well, I am just _so_ sorry, Mr. _Snow_. I hate that you’ve had two pair of pants ruined in one day.” Bronn had by now turned back to the urinal, finished peeing, shaken himself off, and tucked himself carefully away. “Oh dear.” Bronn shook his head. Looking back at Tyrion he lifted his shoulders, moving to one of the sinks. “Accidents will happen, but this is exactly why I say you should never try to talk to the bloke next to you while you piss.” Ramsay’s face was drawn in a look trapped like a fly in amber between anger and self-righteous indignation.

_Well, he’ll be sitting through forty-five more minutes of the Sexual Harassment class smelling like another man’s urine now. And if that isn’t the universe balancing out a few discrepancies then I don’t know what the Sevenhells the gods are doing up there_. Tyrion thought happily to himself as he and Bronn exited the bathroom. Before they made it through the door, Bronn grabbed a few towels and tossed them back at Ramsay.

 

“For _your_ accident, lad.” And then they were in the blessedly cool and Ramsay free hallway once more, heading towards the conference room that would be their home for the last forty-five minutes of this seminar. _The day has not started off well, but perhaps,_ Tyrion wanted to skip down the hall hand in hand with Bronn _, perhaps it is beginning to turn around!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks you for reading SOE *gives big cheesy advertisement for Orbit gum style grin*
> 
> Hope you enjoyed our latest update!


	20. Don't Bring Me Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The time has come for our little Lemon Drops to gather round and hear the tale of a little bird and her loyal hound.

Sansa was grateful when the sexual harassment seminar finally ended. Ramsay Snow had come back from their break smelling like urine. _Did he honestly pee on himself again?_ He sat up front licking his pen in a way that made Sansa nauseous. She was glad that Bronn was sitting next to her. After he’d stood by her during the incident in her apartment, she felt a new sense of camaraderie with the man.

Sansa tried in vain to focus on the low budget, terribly acted sexual harassment film playing on the TV, but all morning she kept sneaking glances at Sandor, who looked very handsome in his crisp, white button-down shirt that strained against his biceps. She frowned when she thought about Mal hanging off of him earlier. _Does he actually like her? Am I just a pity date to him?_ Sansa refused to dwell on that possibility. Once she received a text that Lady was safe and sound with Hotpie she simply retreated into herself just like she used to with Joffrey. _I am a Stark. I can be brave._

After class, Sansa didn’t wait around for anyone. All she knew was she had to get away from Ramsay. She rushed to Petyr’s photography studio on the sixth floor where she and Margaery were supposed to spend the rest of the morning. Today’s assignment included helping Mr. Baelish set up a winter wear photo shoot for the Yin Yang Twins. Sansa was glad for anything that would distract her from thinking about anyone named Mal or anyone related to the name Bolton.

Sansa spent the rest of morning dusting off various props, while Margaery complained about everything from her failed spray tan to her suspicion Bronn was sleeping around on her. Sansa tried desperately to change the subject to tonight’s DJ battle, but was disappointed to learn Margaery wasn’t even a big fan. She was only going because Bronn invited her.

Petyr Baelish insisted on helping Sansa out as much as possible. It would have been rather enjoyable, if he would only stop pressing up against her as he walked around the prop room. The first time he had “bumped” into her, she’d thought it was merely an accident. However, as the day progressed, so did his hands. A light brush against her arm, his hand lingering too long on the small of her back, or the worst was when he squeezed by her and she was vaguely aware of a bulge pressing against her bum that shouldn’t be there. _Gods!_ Sansa felt fear itself creep slowly down her spine. She was powerless to stop him and her face burned with shame every time he touched her. She didn’t mind being touched she just didn’t like men touching her. Not after what Joffrey had put her through. Her body was covered in scars, a lasting reminder not to trust any man. It had surprised her how easily Sandor seemed to knock down her defenses. Perhaps it was because his face looked like her back. _We’ve both been through hell. We are survivors._

As Petyr’s hand casually brushed against her bust, she jumped back. The irony that they’d just been forced to endure a sexual harassment seminar wasn’t lost on her. She wanted to run upstairs and knock on Mrs. Clara’s door and plead for help, but after Ramsay had spread those vile rumors about her, who would believe her? _I am a Stark. I can be brave._

Even Margaery noticed the odd behavior coming from the fashion photographer. She sharply warned Sansa to quit flirting with him.

_I’m not flirting with him!_

Just before lunch, Petyr ushered the girls over to two identical garment bags hanging in the back. He unzipped one bag, and Sansa gasped as she realized she was staring at an original Annie Rose. It was a black mini halter dress, overlaid with a shimmering gold pattern. The dress was completely sheer with the gold pattern only swirling over the most sensitive parts of a woman’s anatomy. The dress was shocking, scandalous, dangerous and absolutely Annie Rose. Margaery reached her orange hand out slowly, wanting to touch the gorgeous gown. Petyr slapped her hand away.

“Girls, tonight I want you to wear these dresses to club Oloi5. I already know you have tickets and this will be the perfect opportunity for you to represent SOE. I’ve decided you will both star in the next addition of Who Wore It Better.”

Sansa couldn’t imagine wearing something so short or sheer in public. _What would mother say?_ Plus, she knew it wouldn’t cover her scars, and that simply wouldn’t do. Thankfully, Margaery spoke up first.

“I can’t wear this!” Margaery exclaimed, pointing to the mini dress.

Petyr narrowed his eyes at Margaery. “Of course not, Miss Tyrell. You won’t be touching this dress until you go home and shower. I don’t want a speck of that orange glop to rub off on this expensive dress.” Sansa noted how he enunciated the word “expensive”.

“I look like a pumpkin right now! I can’t be photographed in anything tonight!” Margaery was beside herself at the thought.

Petyr Baelish almost looked amused. “I am the world’s greatest fashion photographer. If I can make a pimple on a model disappear, surely I can tint your skin into looking more human.”

Sansa couldn’t tell if Margaery was blushing or not due to the fact that at this moment she resembled an orange safety cone.   

Sansa cleared her throat. “Mr. Baelish, this dress is lovely, but…”

Petyr held up his pointer finger and pressed it against her lips in a bid to silence her.

“Please, Miss Stark, call me Petyr.”

 _Stop touching me._ He was standing too close to her, purring his name into her ear. A smirk was displayed across his face as he settled his gaze upon her chest. She took a step back, all the hairs on her neck standing up. She instinctively covered her front with her arms, forcing his gaze to meet her eyes.

“Sorry, Petyr. This dress is beautiful, but I’ve never worn anything like this in public before. It would make me too uncomfortable.”

She gulped and looked down at the floor, wringing her hands and biting her lower lip. She had read somewhere in a tabloid that The Mockingbird had a legendary temper. When no angry words came out of him, she snuck a peek at his face. He was frowning and looked positively disappointed in her. She turned slightly when an unfamiliar voice spoke up behind her.

“Leave the poor girl alone, Baelish. That dress is all wrong for her and you know it.”

Sansa’s jaw dropped as Carolinee, one of the Yin Yang Twins, walked toward them and stood beside her. She had lovely white hair that was pulled back into a simple Valyrian Twist. Sansa was a tall girl, but she felt positively short next to this supermodel.

“We all know that Annie sent another dress, a bit more modest than that one.” Sansa hadn’t even realized that the other half of the famous duo was also in the room. Firedew had beautiful jet-black hair that was styled similar to her twin only the elegant Valyrian Twist was going in the opposite direction. _They’re on a first name basis with the great Annie Rose._

Petyr looked annoyed. “As I explained to Mrs. Rose on the phone, I never received the companion piece.”

“That’s ok. I took on the initiative and found it for you. Feel free to thank me later.” Sansa glanced up in surprise as Varys seemed to appear from out of nowhere. _How does a man who wears orange silk robes walk around unnoticed?_ He carried a garment bag carefully draped over his arms and handed it to Sansa.

Sansa dutifully hung the bag next to the other dresses and unzipped it. The dress was stunning. The black and gold seemed to sparkle as it swirled in a delicate pattern across the dress. This dress was knee length, had a high neckline and capped sleeves. Sansa turned it to the side and realized that both sides of the dress had a sheer panel that ran from top to bottom. The sheer panel was a few inches wide.

While it wasn’t as scandalous as the other one, it would be impossible for her to wear any type of undergarment unnoticed. Sansa had never worn something so sexy in all her life. She wondered if Sandor would like it.

Petyr smiled at Varys, but Sansa noticed his smile didn’t reach his eyes. Varys just laughed softly and focused on Sansa. “I have a marvelous idea, my dear. Why don’t you let the twins give you a total makeover tonight before you go out to the club?”

Sansa was speechless. “I’m sure they have more important things to do than help me with hair and makeup.” Sansa stared at her shoes and briefly wondered if Ramsay had licked them as well _. Don’t even think about that right now, Sansa Stark._

“Nonsense! We’d love to!” The Yin Yang Twins each linked their slender arms with her and excitedly prattled off at the same time. Sansa wasn’t sure who was speaking to whom because they were finishing each other’s sentences and talking in an excited, rushed pace. “We love giving makeovers, don’t we, sister? Her hair is so beautiful. Should it be up or down?” Sansa looked up and saw that Varys had disappeared somewhere with Petyr _. His robes must be magic._

“So Little Miss Perfect gets even more preferential treatment. Typical.” The twins immediately stopped talking to stare at a very orange, very angry Margaery. Her coworker stomped off muttering something about working with bitches and hoes.

Rolling their eyes, the Yin Yang Twins turned back to Sansa. “Meet us here as soon as you’re done today. We have big plans for you tonight, our fiery vixen. The DJ battle will be the event of the season!”

Sansa blushed. _No one ever called me a vixen before._ The twins winked at her as they sauntered off, giggling about Pod and his magic touch.

Sansa realized it was time for lunch and met Missandei outside in front of the dragon fountain. The air was cooler, and the two of them huddled together eating sandwiches and drinking a thermos full of hot chocolate. They spent the hour discussing Missandei’s hacker boyfriend, known only as _Grey Worm_. Sansa listened intently as her shy friend told her that Hodor had detected a security breach in the servers and the entire department was working hard to pinpoint the culprit. Sansa mused that Missandei led a very exciting life. _She’s like a character right out of a spy thriller_.

After lunch, they parted ways and Sansa decided to stop by Tyrion’s office to discuss what had happened to her earlier. She couldn’t avoid him all day and she wasn’t exactly sure what Bronn had told him.

As she reached his office, she paused, her hand on the door handle. _Was that a moan?_ She pressed her ear to the door. _Yes, there is definitely moaning going on._ She went bright red and retreated back a few steps. The last thing she wanted to do was walk in on Tyrion in _another_ compromising position. She doubted she or Myrcella would ever look at another beautifully decorated Sevenmas tree the same way again. She shuddered and shook her head trying to clear that image away.

She rounded the corner and ran smack into Ramsay holding her missing pink scarf. Sansa felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her, and she physically recoiled back from his wormy touch. _Don’t you dare touch me, you sick bastard._

He gave her a sickening smile and waved the scarf in front of her face. “I believe this belongs to you. Call it a peace offering.” Sansa snatched her beautiful scarf away from his disgusting hands. _Why does this feel so crunchy?_

Ramsay’s smile grew even bigger. “You’ll never guess where I found it.”

Sansa stared at her scarf in utter horror as a certain realization hit her. One look at his disgusting face confirmed her worst fear. _Gods!_ She threw the scarf back in his face trying not to dry heave and ran toward the elevator. The doors opened and she saw Sandor looking at his phone. He looked up as Sansa ran inside the elevator. He glanced up at an amused Ramsay and hit the close door button.

They stood in silence as the elevator descended down. Sansa was trying to catch her breath and calm her already frayed nerves when the elevator jerked and shuddered to a complete stop.

No, No, no, no. This was the exact reason why Sansa hated elevators. She was trapped in a steel coffin suspended by nothing more than an obviously malfunctioning cable. Sansa could feel the walls begin to close in around her. _Gods!_ She placed her hands on her knees and leaned forward to take deep breaths. _I am a Stark. I can be brave._

Sandor knelt in front of her quietly. He gently removed her hands from her knees and kissed them before placing them on his cheeks. She was shaking, but as she stared into his steel eyes she felt her heart rate begin to slow.

“I’ve got you, Little Bird.”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have Mal? You two seemed quite close.” She was whispering now, her voice shaking almost as much as she was. She stared into his eyes, looking for any signs of deception.

“Fuck Mal. You’re the one I want.” Sandor stared back into her eyes with such intensity she felt her insides melt.

Those were the words her she’d been longing to hear, and she broke down crying in his arms. With that simple declaration, the dam that had been carefully holding her emotions in check all day suddenly burst. He cradled her in her arms as they sat together on the floor. Between sobs, Sansa told him everything about Ramsay breaking in and licking her shoe, Roose with his gun, Petyr rubbing up against her and even her ruined scarf. Sandor stroked her auburn hair gently as he listened to her hysterics. He never said a word. He just listened.

By the time she finished baring her soul to Sandor, he had a wet spot on his shirt from all her tears. She was mortified and buried her face into his neck. _How does he smell so amazing all the time?_ She felt him kiss the top of her head as she listened to the steady rhythm of his heart.

“Sandor, I’m too scared to go home tonight. Can I please stay with you?” She couldn’t help but smile lightly when his heartbeat suddenly quickened.

“Sure.” He shifted uncomfortably. Sansa realized she had been sitting on him for a while. “Do you still want to go out tonight, Little Bird?”

She looked at him incredulously. “Of course I do! You know what a big fan I am of DJ Sassy Eggs!”

He smiled and motioned for both of them to stand up. He picked up the red emergency phone located next to the elevator buttons. “Hodor we’re fine. You can start the elevator back up.”

The elevator once again began its decent.

Sansa slapped Sandor’s arm. “Do you mean to tell me weren’t really stuck?”

Sandor winked at her. “I may have mentioned to Hodor it had always been a fantasy of mine to be trapped in an elevator with a beautiful woman. Although I always figured there’d be more fucking less talking.”

Sansa’s face flushed as an image of her moaning his name filled her mind. She shifted as heat began to pool in her nether regions. Sandor placed his arm around her and pulled her tight against him, burying his face in her hair.

“I think it’s Hodor’s way of playing matchmaker. He didn’t mean anything by it. I will pick you up here later tonight, Little Bird.”

“Thank you for everything, Sandor. Not every guy would hold a girl while she becomes an ugly crying mess.” She bit her lower lip and hoped he would hear sincerity in her voice.

He kissed the top of her head one last time and murmured something into her hair. She looked up at him, then boldly threw her arms around his neck and chastely kissed his scarred cheek. Sandor wrapped his hands around her tiny waist and pulled her in even closer. This was the exact position they were in when the elevator doors opened. Just outside stood an annoyed Petyr Baelish holding her purse, next to an amused Mrs. Clara.

“Quit leaving your crap around my studio, Miss Stark.” Petyr thrust her purse forward before stomping off. Luckily, Sandor caught it before it dropped to the ground.

Mrs. Clara muttered something about how she couldn’t see a thing without her contacts in and wandered off, a small smile forming on her lips.

The rest of Sansa’s day was thankfully uneventful. When she finally clocked out, she found herself being whisked away back upstairs by the Yin Yang Twins. They showed her the prep area all models had to go through before a show, then sat her down and went to town on her. By the time the twins were finished, Sansa’s hair was so glossy it practically shined. Her eyebrows had been plucked, she had been waxed _everywhere,_ and she even received a lovely manicure. Her makeup was impeccable and you couldn’t even tell Sansa was recovering from a black eye. Podrick Payne had shown up a bit earlier with food and the twins showered him with kisses, leaving him red-faced and stammering. When the makeover was complete, they handed her a lovely pair of black Anona heels and Sansa eagerly slipped them on. _They make me feel like I’m walking on clouds._

Sansa stood in front of a full-length mirror feeling like the sexy confident women she always wanted to be. She didn’t see Sandor walk up to her. All she heard was the strange growl that came out of his mouth.

_He must have noticed the sheer sides._

He stood still as a statue with his eyes bugged out of his head. “You look fucking hot, my Little Bird.”

She smiled and blushed when the twins snickered behind her. _He thinks I look hot!_

The girls mentioned they were off to get ready for tonight as well, but Sansa noticed they really looked liked they wanted to devour poor Podrick instead. _Maybe they’ll do both._ She waved goodbye to them, and Sandor escorted Sansa downstairs.

His eyes traveled unabashedly all over her body, and she couldn’t help the blush that formed under his steely gaze. They walked holding hands up to Tyrion’s audacious red cherry limo. _When did we start holding hands?_ Sansa scooted inside the limo only to be greeted with a chorus of whistles emanating from Bronn, Tyrion and even Shae. Sansa suppressed a smile when she heard Sandor growl a warning at all of them.

Sansa smiled at Shae and Tyrion sitting together in the limo. Shae was wearing a tight blue dress that showed off both her legs and cleavage. The color made her dark eyes pop and Sansa smiled realizing she must have been the woman she heard moaning earlier in his office. _Don’t break his heart._

As they were pulling up to club Oloi5, Sansa looked around and did a quick head count.

“Guys, where’s Margaery?”

“Oh, fuck!” Bronn whipped out his phone and began texting frantically. “You don’t think she’ll be mad do you?”

Tyrion and Sandor burst out laughing. Sansa and Shae each gave him an incredulous look.

Club Oloi5 was just as amazing as Sansa imagined. A line of anxious people was currently wrapped around the white building as far as the eye could see. Tyrion led the group up to the front of the line, ignoring the glares he received for doing so. Sansa heard a surprising amount of catcalls aimed at her and Shae. Sandor just moved his massive arm around her waist and held her closer _._ Sansa briefly wondered if she had made the right decision to forgo smallclothes tonight. She _was_ on a work assignment and the dress was _clearly_ designed to be worn au natural. _Please, please don’t let mother see any photos from tonight._

The bouncer let them through as soon as he heard the word “Lannister”, but it didn’t stop him from leering a bit too long at Shae’s ample bosom. When they pushed their way into the club, Sansa couldn’t keep herself from staring. The club was at least three stories tall. The main floor held a massive dance floor where the DJs and their assistants were currently setting up for the show. Up above the dance floor, a massive balcony was suspended. An elegant stairwell led up to the top. Everyone knew Club Oloi5 housed the longest bar in all of King’s Landing. The hanging bar also had comfortable couches and various booths to rest at.

Tyrion and Shae split off somewhere, and Bronn was still waiting outside for Margaery. Sansa and Sandor made their way toward the bar. She smiled when a very familiar redheaded bartender turned around to greet them.

“You’re Ygritte right?” Sansa couldn’t believe she remembered her name.

Ygritte turned toward her and smiled. “Songstress!”

Sansa blushed and smiled.

Ygritte sized up Sandor, his arm still wrapped around her waist, and gave them both a sly smile. “Care to try something out for me? It’s an original cocktail I came up with. Still don’t have a name for it yet. It’s on the house, of course.”

Without waiting for a response, Ygritte poured a beautiful cocktail for Sansa and topped it off with a curled lemon peel. She slid the drink over and Sansa took a greedy sip. Some of it spilled in her haste and dribble down her chin.

Sandor wiped it with his thumb and licked the liquor right off his finger. He leaned toward the bartender and slapped down a very large bill.

“I’d call it Little Bird Addicted.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Direwaggle and I would like to thank y’all for your continued love, support and hilarious commentary! Where would we be without you? Seriously where… does anyone know? Probably stalking/reading other SanSan fics I suppose. But I digress… A big shout out to Firedew for all your help! The title of this chapter belongs to the glory, nay the legend that is known as ELO.


	21. I Gotta Feeling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> News Alert: Direwaggle42's computer died baaad on Monday. So the delay is in part due to that and in part due to the fact that Grad Classes began Monday... cause yeah... both of those things happened on the same day.
> 
> *shakes fists at the gods of technology*
> 
> Hope you enjoy, please, if you see typos or wierd word smashes that we couldn't catch, Direwaggle42 is back to editing in ze phone. If it is really distracting, then take a note, give us the paragraph and line reference and we'll see what we can do to fix it.

_Fuck Mal. you’re the one I want, Little Bird_ , was swimming around, beating against the inside of his skull like waves breaking on the Blackwater Bay, as he walked back to his office. Of all the things to say, of all the elegant words that could have tumbled from his lips, he’d ended up revealing an inkling of his emotions for the Little Bird with a curse and words that tumbled from his lips like a drunk down the Serpentine private stairs. Sandor wanted to brain himself on a snack machine he passed, the scowl he saw painted across his features so familiar and yet so foreign now. _And Hodor_ , he grunted to himself, he didn’t know whether to thank the quiet giant or smack him upside the back of the head for that stunt. Sandor reached his out of the way office and sunk into his desk chair with a groan.

Gods he had actually blurted out that bit about his fantasy about rutting in a stalled elevator. _Gods the way the blood rose in her cheeks,_ he shook his head, letting it fall forward and thunk against the stack of as yet unanswered ‘Ask the Hound’ write ins. Seeing her blush like that had gotten his blood up pretty quickly. He’d played it as cool as he could— _Like you know how to play it cool with a girl touched by fire_ —and she hadn’t seem to notice how much he had wanted to press her against the cool metal of the elevator walls and take her right then and there. Most of all he wanted to kiss her tears away and let their hips do the talking, grind her fears into sobs and moans of pleasure. He was never good with his words, and, if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t have a lot of practice pleasuring women, but with Sansa he would always try.

Shifting his face so his nose was momentarily crushed against a light grey envelope smelling of the pungent bite of wolf`s bane, he groaned. At least his usuals were still writing in, but goddammit he had enough of his own problems to deal with at the moment. He had said yes to her staying over. _Like you’d ever turn down having your Little Bird find her roost in your dog house_. Should he buy pillows or an extra couple blankets or some shit? _Little Birds like to make nests, right?_ He thought as he abruptly sat up _, fuck it, I have a couch, its not like we’re gonna be sharing the damn bed_. As he sat back and tried to concentrate on his work, he couldn’t help the little voice that said, _even if you wanted to share the bed? Even if she wanted to share the bed with you?_

 

The afternoon passed quickly enough for all that his mind was acting like a broken recorded. It kept skipping and screeching back to the moments in the elevator where she told him about her apartment, the break in, Bolton and son, Baelish’s unwanted touches, and flashing forward to how her hair smelt and how much he had wanted to take Baelish by his collar and throttle him for everything he’d put the Little Bird through already.

Of course now he was standing beside a bar, inside one of the most extravagant and _fuckin’ ridiculous displays of wealth he had ever seen. This is the kind of place made for Tyrion_ , then Sandor slid his eyes over to Sansa, _and for Little Birds too_. Sandor sighed, _its not so bad, I suppose_. Each time Sandor turned to take in the large main dance floor of Club Olio5, the way Sansa’s dress hugged her curves would catch his eyes, his fingers twitching to press against the sheer panels running up her delectable little sides. The DJ Battle was just getting underway but she was a far more interesting spectacle. _She has the body of the maiden, all perky_ — Sandor tipped the rest of the second Little Bird Addicted down his throat and tried not to cough as Sansa spun for Ygritte.

A spark to his right and the throbbing insistent thrum of a base finally brought his head around, looking over Sansa and Shae’s bobbing heads. The two women were at the back edge of a growing crowd. The imp had carefully placed himself on a barstool and Bronn was frantically texting beside the short man. Sandor stepped back when an arch of flame hissed through the air, illuminating a previously pitch black stage. Another arch of flames, _bloody pyrotechnics_ , brought the small of Sandor’s back into contact with the edge of the bar. Sandor let his eyes watch the horrifying display for a few more moments, taking in the two DJs—one wore a dayglow yellow lemming head helmet and the other a strange metallic mask interlaid with neon—before turning away to lean his thick forearms on the bar.

Ygritte slid a lowball glass with ice and what Sandor suspected was Drogon’s Fire Whiskey down the counter and into his open palm. Raising the glass he tipped his chin up in thanks. After chatting with Tyrion for a moment, Ygritte moved down the bar to lean in front of Sandor. All her customers, but a few men doggedly drinking to drown out the sound of the battling DJs’ fans, _if they are anything like me that is_ , had moved to the dance floor. Ygritte scanned the crowd with her sharp eyes and gave both Tyrion and Sandor knowing looks before her eyes flashed back to Sansa and Shae. Both were cheering for DJ SassyEggs and bouncing to the weird blend of techno and mechanically distorted Westerland Big Band that was one of SassyEggs’ ‘signature sounds’. _According to the Little Bird’s run down from the limo ride anyway._

Sandor knew the Big Band from his earliest memories, when memory of his mother’s smile was not coated in grey ash and the memory of his sister was not as thoroughly burnt and warped as half his face. The crashing waves and the poverty encircling the golden _Lannister_ run port town intertwined to perhaps ironically produce a music full of joyous noise. The music represented all the pomp and circumstance that the players themselves only ever saw from a distance as they grew up. Turning back to the crowd and letting his eyes half close, blotting out the worst of DJs’ homage to the Lord of Light, and let his eyes focus on the one truly good thing he had ever had the luck to stumble upon.

“Going to have to make you buy me a drink if I have to watch you mooning all night. Especially over a girl that’s already in your corner, big guy.” Ygritte gave a deep belly laugh, her wiry form and wry smile only outshined by the most recent pyrotechnic display that forced Sandor to turn away again.

“What’s that, barmaid?” Sandor growled out, but the menace wasn’t there. She knew. He knew. The menace and even the severity of his usual expressions had faded, like tea stains on a favorite novel, and it had all started all those weeks ago. _In another chrome and white and too godsdamned tony bar_ , _in another bloody corner of this viper pit of a town, but the players are all the same. Isn’t that life in a fuckin’ nutshell? The music changes but the melody remains the same._  
Somewhere it registered for Sandor that the music had actually changed. The yellow lemming head, SassyEggs, was flashing now, somehow lit from within, a lemony beacon, the music a frantic tempo, completely swallowing up the Dornish Jedi’s more mellow beat.

“I said drink up or grow up and go fuckin’ dance with that red headed bombshell you walked in with oh so cozily.” Ygritte tilted her head. “Unless you’re waiting for something. Trying to be her knight in rusted armor?” Down a few seats Tyrion gave a barking yip of a laugh. _Shut the fuck up, Imp. I don’t see you waddling over to meet your lady love._ “Perhaps you’re waiting for that skeezeball Ramsay to show up again.” Now the young bartender had three pairs of hard eyes on her. The most intense being the sharp as flint grey pair planted in Sandor’s frowning features.

“What do you mean again?” Sandor began and when Bronn thumped his phone to the bartop he repeated. “Ygritte, what do you mean again?!”

Ygritte held her hands up and took a step back, a cloth in one hand. Picking up a glass she opened her mouth and Tyrion spoke up.

“Are you saying that Ramsay Snow was—where were we on your birthday, Bronn?” Bronn rolled his eyes and mouthed ‘The Serpentine, you alcoholic asshole’. “He was at The Serpentine the night we all went out together?” Ygritte nodded as if she thought this was known.

“Figured you boys knew, since I hadn’t seen him there since. But,” She rolled her eyes, “I was doing double duty at a couple of Bolton’s clubs, before I got a better offer here of course.” Ygritte scrubbed out the sparkling glass and set it behind her, flipping the cloth over one sinewy shoulder. “You lads really didn’t know?”

Whatever answer they might have given was interrupted by a roar from half the crowd. The music softened and the pyrotechnics had been snuffed out some few minutes back, not that the three premier members of the Lonely Bastards and Broken Cups Drinking Club would have noticed. Each turned, Tyrion spinning like a child on his bar stool, to watch the DJ battle’s conclusion. The owner of Club Olio5, Saint Olio the Fifth as he was known, stepped up to the stage, his voice carried across the screaming crowd, quieting them.

“With two excellent DJs such as the Dornish Jedi and SassyEggs we all knew this would be a hard one battle.” A vinyl record gave a squeaky noise and the crowd laughed. Somewhere behind the yellow lemming head, the whiskers and nose blinking now, DJ SassyEggs seemed to be smirking. _You daft bastard_ , Sandor thought with a rueful smirk, _can't see shit past all that plastic and metal molded to look like a bloody beyond the Wall rat_. “But, even with such well-balanced opponents, there must be a winner!” The crowd cheered its agreement. “Without further ado,” the club promotor stepped back a pace, arms at his side, “I present your winner!” He shifted and both arms were thrown towards the lemming headed DJ. From beneath the second story, suspended bar, confetti and glitter rained down on the crowd. Strobe lights flashing around the winning DJ, and the music began again with the distinctly melodic, tearful, and somehow jubilant cry of a saxophone backed by chortling trumpets that quickly became inseparable to Sandor among the other sounds of DJ SassyEggs’ victory song.

Sandor turned away from the throng for a moment, thinking that before Sansa and Shae made their way back, perhaps he and the lads could have a little chat. But there was a hand skidding up his arm, squeezing his bicep and the feather light fingers caressed his neck. Sighing, Sandor rolled his neck. _Little Bird has never pet me like this before_. Opening his eyes when he felt lips form a kiss on his remaining earlobe and sharp little teeth tugging on his flesh, Sandor turned quickly only to stumble back.

"Are you aiming for a sexual harassment lawsuit, woman?" Sandor snarled. Eyes roving the crowd he found Sansa's eyes within a few short breaths. Her baby blues went wide and wet but in another heartbeat her mouth set in a hard line. _Come on, Little Bird, it wasn't me. I don't want her. Can't you see?_ Sansa pointed one long, pale finger at him, and crooking it, she raised one perfect eyebrow, and her little pink tongue darted out to lick her pouting lips.

Mal stood, hands on her hips, watching with annoyance as Sandor slipped, tail between his legs, and head bent sheepishly, across the open bit of dance floor to stand before Sansa. A new set of hands, the only ones he ever wanted to feel, slid up his arms to interlock behind his thick neck. Sansa stood on her tip toes, even in those delicious heels, and leaned into Sandor ' neck on the right. One flawless cheek brushing against the waxy, charred flesh of another cheek, Sandor could feel more than see Sansa turn to look back at Mal.

To Sandor's relief, he noted Margaery, a slightly less alarming shade of orange, had finally arrived. The girl was draped across Bronn's shoulders, his hands fluttering around hers as she seemed to have kidnapped the poor bastard's phone. Sansa turned back into Sandor, one hand sliding up into the duck tails of his dark hair, the other down his left arm. When her lips pressed against the jutting hinge of his jaw he started from his daze. Mal's eyes narrowed, the saucy smirk, that had previously graced her plump lips now faltering. Sandor shuttered as he felt her lips move up and across to the place where his ear had once sat so long ago. Swallowing thickly, heart pumping like a steam piston, Sandor nearly missed the little growl from the little bird. _She is a wolf after all._

"Dance with me, Sandor." Sansa purred, sliding down to stand with her heels flat again. The warm press of her body and the feel of the fabric shifting sent images straight to his groin of him a pushing the material up past her sweet little ass and her rocking hips. Groaning he nodded, never more willing to make a fool of himself on the dance floor before. "Do you dance much, Sandor?" The little bird asked breathily. A bark of laugh died on his lips as she drew away from him, her hand slipping into his and tugging him into the tightly packed crowd.

The crowd pressed against them, pushing Sandor forward, his head feeling a bit like it might he probably shouldn't have drunken those fingers of Drogon whiskey after turning down liquor for quite a few years. Sansa stumbled forward too and he knew she had only had perhaps a drink, if that, so it might be the nature and rhythm of the dance floor, like the pull and push of the tides. Sandor dropped his hand down to the small of Sansa's back. Thumb hooked around her hip now, the warms of her flesh just a sheer bit of gossamer away. Tugging her closer, Sandor dipped his hips and ground forward.

The strongest beat being pumped out by SassyEggs was a steady throbbing undercurrent that made him wish they were back in that godsdamned elevator. Sansa met his forward movement with a blush and a small smile. Her right leg tucked between his thighs, he dipped her a once and twice, her eyes astonished as if she thought for a moment he might let her fall. _If I can help it, I'll never let you down, Little Bird._

Sweeping one hand up her back and the other down, to brush her ass, he found himself smiling. His eyes popped wide as Sansa spun in his arms and pressing her shoulder against his chest, slid down, rubbing against him like a cat. Sandor couldn't help the groan that leapt from his lips as she slid back up, arching her back, her ass a wiggle and press of firm muscle against his lap. His hands moved of their own accord and finding her hips steadied her as she continued to move to the music and he, for all he felt like this must be dream, moved against her.

If they were even still moving to the music, he did not know. _Hells,_ if the music was still playing Sandor knew he at least was dead to it, moving with more free primal instincts now.

More than see or hear, he could feel the way Sansa must be panting too, he could feel her pulse, quick as a bird's, in her finger tips as she brushed his wrists, gently lifting his hands. She spun again, facing him, her eyes and pupils blown wide, lips parted, and cheeks flushed.

"Follow me?" She tipped her head and he thought, _anywhere, Little Bird._

 

 _This isn’t what I expected_. In his chest he felt a twinge of guilt because he had in fact for a brief delusional boorish moment thought Sansa was taking him to whatever was this _fancy as fuck_ club's equivalent of the high school dance broom closet. Seated on a sheep skin over a large block of ice in a room made of ice, with silver and gold chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, the Little Bird tucked under his arm under what he suspected was a faux bear skin produced by the Sea Bear's biggest supportor, the Mormont Anti-Fur Alliance was even better though. She was giggling now, pixie nose twitching over the shot of Direwolf Vodka, eyes flashing up to look at him as his own smoldered down at her.

Swallowing thickly at the way she licked her lips before pressing them to the rim of her shot glass, he brought his own glass to his lips.

"Alright, Little Bird, let's do this together." He found himself murmuring quietly to her even though they were one of three couples in the Room of Always Winter. It felt too personal a moment, too intimate a statement, to say it loudly or in his big bark of a gravel or rumble as he might normally. _That's everything with her though. Too sweet, too personal, too perfect_. Like a shot of lighting, the Direwolf Vodka careened down his throat. Sansa gave a little gasp and murmured something. "What's that, Little Bird?"

"It tastes like air back in Winterfell." She repeated, her eyes sad again.

"Funny," Sandor grunted. She looked a little hurt and he added, "that Little Bird Addicted drink tasted exactly like I've thought you might..." He trailed off with a blush. Even in the frigid cold of the room of perpetual winter, he could feel the bloody rush to his cheeks and more southern regions. "Fuck. I didn't mean to say that out loud." She giggled and he looked up to meet her sparkling eyes.

"Should we test out your theory?" A wolfish grin bloomed on her lips and he growled, snaking a hand behind her head, interweaving his thick rough fingers with her fine as Free City silk red tresses, and pulled her towards him. Their breaths mingled, little puffed clouds of anticipation, heavy as lead with want.

"I found them, Tyrion!" Shae’s voice broke the crystal stillness of the icy air, shattering upon Sandor's ears with the piercing tones of a poorly timed harpoon thrower in the midst of a harpist convention. "Aren't you too looking cozy?" Sansa blushed to her roots, scooting off his lap. "Don't look so worried, we aren't on company property." Sansa gave a breathy little nervous laugh but Sandor just narrowed his gaze. "Come up to the second floor with us." Shae's words managed to tight rope walk the line between being a friendly suggestion and a subtly cheerful command.

Like a band of misfit toys, Sandor felt Sansa tugging him along behind her, their fearless leaders, Tyrion and Shae, leading the way. Sandor knew from his study of the building's interior, the second floor was one that aimed to appear as if it was suspended above the first. Much of the floor was a mix between glass and seemingly mobile panels supported by thickly woven steak rope. It was all safe, Sandor knew this, and it was the marvel of the hip bar and club world, but he was leery of any floor that did not have beams beneath it.

Bronn was already seated at the centrally located bar, a veritable cloud of annoyance above his usually bobbing and cheerful head. Sliding his eyes down the bar Sandor could see why now. Margaery had a couple of men near her but one, back to their troop, his light pin stripe suit exquisitely cut, was running a hand down Margaery's taut Creamsicle cheek. Then a slip of paper or perhaps a small white packet passed between their hands as Margaery gave a throaty chuckle and smiling dipped away from her admirers to stride triumphantly back to perch near Bronn.

Sansa hopped on the stool next to her friend and Sandor could almost feel the chill of the winter wonderland room again as Margaery's eyes focused on Sansa.

"I'm so glad you made it!" Sansa chirped. Ever the courteous little bird. Can't you see this rose has plenty of thorns?

"Someone was too busy helping damsels in distress to remember me." Margaery snipped. Oh yeah, she's fucking pissed. "So glad you were able to see your DJ thing though." Margaery's tone and the less than subtle roll of her glittering eyes, said otherwise. "Too bad that radioactive rat won, hm?" Sansa began to speak, probably in defense of her favorite DJ, but Margaery abruptly picked up the glass by Bronn's elbow and moved to settle on her stool again. Jerking forward with a loss of balance, one heel slipping forward on the glass panel beneath thier feet, the rose champagne splattered across the Little Bird's front and brought a surprised gasp from her lips.

Sandor moved quickly, bringing his handkerchief to her damp cheek. Margaery was apologizing in stilted words as if from lines only halfheartedly learned. Sansa's finger wrapped around his own, drawing the piece of cloth from his grip and let it smooth across her cheek. Standing Sansa gave a little throat clear, effectively silencing Margaery.

"Excuse me, it's alright, accidents happen, but this is an Annie Rose. Excuse me while I go to the ladies room." She addressed worried eyes and cunning ones alike.

"Sansa, dear, let me come with you. It is my fault after all, so clumsy of me." Margaery took up her hand and led her in a winding path out of sight, presumably to the bathroom. _Jealous little thistle._ Sandor grumbled to himself as he took up the little bird's seat, a stool away from Bronn who was looking with confusion at the way the girls had gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading!


	22. Evacuate The Dancefloor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter, chapter! We got your chapter! Step right up to read our newest chapter! *Warning chapter contains swearing, a taser, violence and a womens bathroom.* Intrigued? We knew you would be!

Shae gazed down at Tyrion Lannister in his expensive suit, perched on a barstool licking the last drop of alcohol from his shot glass. She smirked as she recalled everything his tongue had licked earlier when she was in his office.

She had stopped by his office to go over some paperwork, and instead, he told her a filthy joke that involved a Dornish widow, a Dothraki warrior and cookie. She chuckled slightly as she recalled the dirty punch line. One thing led to another, and she soon found herself on top of his desk with her skirt pulled all the way up. _I never did get my thong back._ She had tried to be quiet but she knew a few moans had escaped her in the heat of the moment. Tyrion seemed to be lost in his own filthy thoughts, because he licked his shot glass in an obscene manner while staring at her, his mismatched eyes gleaming.

_He isn’t even my type._ _I usually go for serious, silver foxes_. If she was looking for something different in her life, she needn’t look further than her surprising date. A carefree, witty dwarf with a deliciously naughty tongue may just be what the doctor ordered.

Shae didn’t think he would give her the time of day after their office romp. She had given up the goods and now he would only use her and toss her aside. She had been down that lonely road before. She could have kicked herself for falling into that familiar trap once again. Tyrion would never respect her as an independent, hardworking woman.

_Who could ever respect a woman like me?_ He had surprised her by asking her out tonight. He even sent her a gorgeous dress to wear accompanied by a dozen beautiful roses.

_Maybe he is different._

These were the curious turn of events that led her to be at the hottest nightclub in town drinking something delicious the bartender called an L.B.A. Shae was a little disappointed her favorite DJ The Dornish Jedi hadn’t won the battle, but Sassy Eggs had clearly brought her A-Game. The important thing to remember was that she was having fun and she hadn’t had that in a while.

She frowned when Margaery Tyrell glided in. She didn’t like that girl. Tyrion must have been thinking the same thing because his frown was even deeper than hers when he spotted her.

She didn’t like Margaery’s fake smiles and cruel jokes. She didn’t like how the most vicious gossip at SOE could be easily traced back to her. She didn’t like how she constantly accepted praise for Sansa’s work and then turned around and belittled the girl at every opportunity. She especially didn’t like how Margery looked wearing that Annie Rose dress. The sheer black number had clearly been made for someone taller; it _needed_ to be worn by someone taller. On a petite girl, the gold accents that were supposed to cover up strategic parts missed their mark. Margaery Tyrell, the infamous trust fund baby, was walking around with her burnt orange nipples clearly visible under a sheer black dress. That wasn’t her only sensitive body part on display either.

Shae scrunched her nose at the girl in disgust. _She really should have waxed if she was going to put everything on display tonight. Her landing strip looks more like a wild pumpkin patch._

Somehow, the new office intern had managed to turn up to the hottest club in town looking like an orange-tinted, cheap hooker. _Annie Rose will not be pleased._

Shae was alarmed when Margaery and Mal sat at the bar and began whispering to each other as they looked at Sansa. When Margaery _accidentally_ spilled her drink all over Sansa, Shae followed them to the bathroom. Something was clearly wrong and Shae didn’t want Sansa to face it alone. She was supposed to be that quiet girl’s mentor, after all.

“Wait for me, please!” Shae called out to Sansa and Margaery. Sansa smiled at Shae and waited politely. Margaery snorted and tapped her stiletto shoe impatiently.

As the trio rounded the corner, Ramsay Snow came out of nowhere and grabbed Sansa’s arm to drag her onto the dance floor. She let out a painful yelp and began to fight against him. Shae charged over to the struggling couple, while Margaery stood back with a cool look of indifference on her face.

Shae had just reached Sansa’s side when Theon Greyjoy came out of nowhere and tackled Ramsay.

“Get off me, Theon!” Ramsay shoved Theon off and jumped up. His eyes blazed. “Are you worried I’ll tell Sansa what I found in your¾”

Theon punched him square in the jaw. Shae thought she saw a tooth fly. A crowd had gathered around the brawling boys, egging them on to fight before the bouncers hauled them both off.

“Are you ok, Sansa?” Shae felt rather protective of Sansa. The girl had been nothing but kind to her and certainly didn’t deserve to be manhandled by that disgusting boy.

“I’m fine. I just want to get to the bathroom before this stain sets.”

Sansa’s eyes were wide with fright and she was rubbing the arm Ramsey had grabbed. Shae could have kicked herself for not insisting the guys escort them through the pulsing crowd. She placed her arm around the shaking girl and led her to the bathroom. A fidgeting Margaery followed closely behind.

The bathroom was just as elegant as the rest of the club. It had a velvet fainting couch, expensive art, marbled floors and crystal chandeliers. One of the handicapped stalls was marked out of order but other than that it was perfect. _Too perfect._ This was a busy club. Where was the crowd of women reapplying lipstick? Where were all the women standing in line for a stall? The bathroom looked like an empty museum, and every sense in her body screamed this was a trap. Sansa must have felt the same way because she glanced around worriedly as well.

“Hello, little dove.”

A beautiful blonde woman in a red bandage dress glided into the bathroom followed by a large bodyguard wearing a malevolent grin. He leered at Sansa with predatory eyes. Shae’s father had eyes like that. She had been robbed of her childhood and innocence when she was only nine years old because of that man. Whoever this man was he was dangerous. Shae clenched her fists and stepped into a fighting stance.

“You did well, Miss Tyrell. Thank you for bringing her here. You may leave now.” The blonde, who looked vaguely familiar, handed Margaery an envelope and the girl slipped it into her clutch. Margaery strode toward the door.

“Don’t leave me, please.” Sansa spoke in a whisper. Margaery stopped but didn’t look back.

“Maybe you shouldn’t sleep with other girls’ boyfriends, Sansa. Maybe you wouldn’t be in this situation if you weren’t such a redheaded whore.” She stormed off and Shae felt her jaw drop. _With a friend like that, who needs enemies_?

The blonde woman laughed at the exchange before casting her gaze to Shae.

“Get out.”

Shae would not, could not leave Sansa. She pushed Sansa behind her in a protective gesture.

“If you want Sansa, you’ll have to go through me.”

The woman didn’t say anything. She reached into her purse and pulled out a Taser.

Shae screamed as her body convulsed with electricity. Her body crumpled helplessly onto the bathroom floor.

_Fucking Bitch._

“Leave her alone, Cersei!” She heard the frantic voice of Sansa behind her. She felt as Sansa’s arms hugged her protectively. _Cersei? Where have I heard that name before?_

“You killed my son! You killed my perfect prince, you fucking skank!” Shae winced when she saw Cersei bent forward and slapped Sansa. The sound echoed across the bathroom.

“I didn’t kill Joffrey! He had a peanut allergy. His death was an accident!” Sansa was crying and Shae rolled over to stand up. She thought she saw a pair of men’s legs underneath the handicapped stall, but when she blinked they were gone.

“Who said you could get up?” Shae’s body convulsed once more as Cersei tased her again.

_One day, I will return this favor bitch._

As she convulsed again, she looked toward the handicapped stall and this time she saw a pair of women’s legs. _I must be going crazy._

“Cersei leave her alone! She didn’t do anything. Please!” Sansa was screaming and had crawled back over to Shae. She was tried to cover Shae’s twitching body with her own slender build.

_Sweet girl._

“Shut up whore!” Slap. “You killed my son!” Slap _._ “You gave him that cookie to eat!” Slap. Cersei screeched and slapped around a sobbing Sansa, but Shae knew no one outside this bathroom would hear them.

Shae tried to sit up with Sansa’s assistance but Cersei just smiled as she tasered both girls. Shae’s skull felt like it was going to crack open. Tears streamed from her eyes.

_Cunt._

Sansa had stopped convulsing and pleaded with a shaky voice. “Stop it, please! Just leave us alone.” Sansa’s voice was hoarse and full of quiet conviction. “I was in the ICU when he died Cersei. Your _precious prince_ put me in there after he tried to murder me on campus.”

Shae couldn’t really move anymore, but she tried with all she had to pull herself along the marbled floor toward Sansa.

Cersei slapped Sansa again. Her lip had split and was badly bleeding.

“If you were a better girlfriend, he wouldn’t have lost his temper to begin with! If you weren’t such a pathetic tramp, he wouldn’t have had to punish you! If you weren’t such a dumb bitch, things wouldn’t have gotten out of hand! Because of you my baby boy is dead! TRANT! I want to see my son’s gift NOW!”

Sansa was too scared to move. She looked like a deer trapped in the headlights of an oncoming semi. The bodyguard plucked up the shaking redhead and whipped her around. He bent her over a sink, and Shae felt ill as she realized she would be helpless to stop a rape in her current state.

The bodyguard ripped open the back of her dress revealing a horror Shae would never forget. Sansa’s back was covered in various jagged scars and one large brand in the shape of a lion’s paw. Some sick fuck had branded Sansa Stark’s back.

_Oh my Gods!_

The bodyguard slowly traced the brand with his finger before he spun the poor girl around again and punched her in the stomach. Sansa cried out as she collapsed in pain. The bodyguard smiled as he kicked the crying girl.

Shae had almost reached Sansa’s side before she was tased for a fourth time.

_No more. Please, no more._ Shae couldn’t remember the last time she was in so much pain. She was beginning to lose consciousness when she rolled to the side and found herself looking at a woman’s concerned face underneath the stall door.

She looked like one of the Yin Yang twins, but Shae was in so much pain she might have been hallucinating. The girl placed a finger to her lips as a sign of silence _._

_Like I can talk right now._

 Her vision blurred and she began hallucinating Tyrion. Suddenly, the fire alarm went off and all the lights in the bathroom went out.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

 

It was only a few minutes after Shae touched him on the shoulder, a gentle press that said in few ‘I’ll be back, lover’, that Tyrion began to feel his gut twist. The gnawing sensation, one he was intimately familiar with after a lifetime of knowing that a shit storm was coming every time he came home from school, grew, turning in his belly, creeping the short distance up his spine, to settle in the back of his throat. Bronn was squinting across the floor. _Perhaps one of the Lonely Bastard’s Broken Cup Drinking Club founding members has returned to the fold._ Tyrion turned, licking his suddenly dry lips and found Clegane hunched over the bar, elbows resting on it, brow furrowed. _I don’t know which of us is more the prodigal son, but we’re all second sons here._

The music from below filtered up in throbbing waves, lapping at the back of his mind. _The music here is damned persistent, I will give it that. Shae had so hoped the Dornish Jedi would win._ Tyrion sighed. _Where are you, Shae?_ It had only been a handful more minutes that Tyrion hopped off the stool. Something was just not right. His phone buzzed in his pocket, a gnat to the humming swarming anxiety skipping like a mummer in a minefield through his thoughts.

Another vibration brought his hand to his pocket. 

Feeling strangely as if his day was in a loop after this morning, Tyrion clicked his phone on and into life. The message was from Podrick. Rolling his eyes, Tyrion wandered and weaved his way through the slightly less dense crowd on the more exclusive second floor. High above on the third story, where the VIP cat walk floated, someone popped a bottle of champagne, laughter cascading down a long with a cork and a splattering of the bubbly. _I need a bottle of what they’re having_.

Off to his left, Tyrion saw a familiar set of oxfords and looked up the well-cut pants legs to find Petyr Baelish leaning against the bar chatting with a couple of his models, seeming to instruct them on locations to meet photographers. _Little Fucker_ , the voice of Clegane growled in Tyrion’s mind. _Well, SOE was hired to cover the Club’s opening, plus the man does have a couple of very expensive dresses here. Thank the gods he doesn’t know the Tyrell girl spilled- ha!- her drink onto Sansa’s Annie Rose._ Moving forward again, Tyrion glanced back at his phone and pointed himself generally towards the rest rooms.

“What do you have to say for yourself, Pod.” Tyrion murmured to himself. Scrolling down, his stomach dropped and he found himself sprinting towards the women’s restroom. Whether it was his music, the pounding of his heart, of the sound of his feet on the glass, Tyrion didn’t know which was loudest. But the whimpered wail of a scream that he heard muffled from behind the bathroom door reached him clear enough.

“What the fuck is going on here!” Tyrion bellowed as best he could, winded as he was, scared as he was, enraged as he was. His elder sister cocked a hip, what looked like a Taser resting in her golden cream hand, the nails of her fingers long and painted crimson as fresh blood. Cersei’s eyes swept to the left and Tyrion whipped his head around.  Her lackeys were always big and stupid and cruel, but this man took the cake as far as Tyrion was concerned. 

Raising his small stubby hands, Tyrion thought of ways to buy time. The best was to talk. His mouth, as Shae had intimately found out this afternoon, was very useful. 

“Sister.” He smiled as best he could, Shae was groaning on the ground to his direct left, Sansa was curled in the fetal position, her back bared to the world, Trant on his right looked only barely at bay. “It seems as though you’re having a reunion of some sort. Is this one of those times where the criminal secretly wishes to be caught and thus commits further, escalating crimes?” Podrick must be somewhere in this bathroom if he sent a message about what was going on. “I thought you had more sense of self preservation.” Calmly sweeping his eyes across the bathroom, Tyrion saw two heels in one stall, two different colors, both lefts. _So the Twins are here._ Cracking his neck and watching his _dearest and vilest sister_ , Tyrion turned slightly to Trant who moved for a split second like a dog on a short chain, jerking forward, teeth bared, to be reigned back by an invisible force. “I thought that was your wheelhouse, self-preservation above all else?”

“I believe that was always your talent, little worm.” Cersei had cut her eyeteeth on insulting banter when she was a child. _Such a cruel little thing even then._ Tyrion shrugged, turning a hairs breadth, and moving back a pace as if in fear of Trant. “Well, since you’re here.” The light switch was just a hand’s dash away, Tyrion let out a breath, watching Cersei smile and incline her head towards Trant. “You may have your fun, Trant.” The huge man moved quickly, but Tyrion had already brought his hand up and the lights were off even as the brute’s hands found purchase on his vest front. 

What happened after Tyrion felt a hand grip him beneath his left arm, another fitting snuggly around his neck, to bring him smashing into one of the beautiful gaudy mirrors, shadowed in darkness, had to be rehashed for him in the hospital.

Snippets came to him as he was carried out, screaming he thought, or perhaps that was the crimson fissure that he could feel spreading from his cheek to his high forehead.

There was the darkness and the yelling, the sound of a stall door slamming open, the click clack of heels and two female voices speaking in unison. _Perhaps that is just a dream._ His mind murmured, body feeling heavy now, even as he floated. _Perhaps it is all a dream._

The bright green flashing strobe lights, spun and twisted with a new set of lime green flaming archs, momentarily brought him back to the present. He heard Podrick muttering above him.

Then Bronn’s voice broke through the throbbing of a base and the howl of a techno saxophone.

“Come on, Sandor! Man, we need to get out of here.”

“Some place that isn’t on fire.” Came the gruff growl of the big guy. Tyrion’s vision went sideways, a flash of auburn hair draped over one of Clegane’s thick forearms. _Sansa, was I too late?_ Like a cool breath blowing out a candle, his vision darkened with the blink of an eye. 

Next it was the cool air of outside, caressing his burning cheeks and cracked lips, almost as sweet as the feel of Shae’s fingers brushing a lock of hair from his eyes. Shae! 

Trying to sit up, a hand pressed him down, men in the uniforms of the Emergency Maester Teams began speaking to him. One saying something like, “Mr. Lannister, do not try to speak.” And another, “Mr. Lannister, you’ve received laceration to your face, we have it packed and bandaged and you are on your way to the Kings Landing General Hospital.” Then Bronn’s snort brought his eyes around.

Even his vision was lethargic though, for it felt like a lifetime before he could concentrate on his best friend. The man shook his head, face pulled between looking relieved and wanting to laugh and as worried as Tyrion had ever seen the man.

“Everyone got out alright, Tyrion.” Bronn murmured and the way his voice was almost gentle told Tyrion more than the lean man’s words. “Saw someone on the way out too.” The EMTs were checking Tyrion’s vitals and trying to keep him stable as they rocketed towards the emergency room. “Didn’t know that Club Olio5 was a place Roose Bolton would want to visit.” Bronn sat back with an audible thud. Tyrion felt as if his body was reeling, falling back into his gurney without even moving an inch. “Checking out the competition I suspect. Damned suspicious though.”

_Checking out the competition. Checking out the competition. Checking out the competition for the club?_ Tyrion thought as spots danced before his eyes and the EMTs moved into action with the alarming sound of his heart monitor screaming. His final thought came through a haze of gauze and the warm embrace of the darkness behind his lids, _Or checking out the competition for Sansa?_

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooooooo how's everybody doing? Are we doing ok? *Hides behind sleeping Golden Retriever to await the judgement of our most loyal and lovely lemon drops* Did I mention it's only 5:00 AM? WHY AM I EVEN AWAKE? Farewell sleep I miss thee already.


	23. Living Room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gather round my lovely little lemon drops! For there is safety in numbers.....

You checked to make sure everything was in place before your guest arrived. You had thought of everything as you refused to leave anything to chance. You _smiled_ as you soaked a cloth in ether. Your goddess would be avenged.

_She belongs to you._

You sit quietly on your soft leather couch. The only sounds in your apartment are coming from your phone. The video of your goddess, _your beloved_ had been uploaded online. It already had a million views and counting. Margaery _abandoning_ the girls, Cersei tasing Shae repeatedly, Trant _beating and kicking_ Sansa, even Tyrion being slammed into the mirror¾, it was now all accessible to the general public. The footage had cut when the lights went out. _You smiled as you sharpened your hunting knife._ Your goddess would be avenged.

_She belongs to you._

You check your phone _constantly_ to receive updates from the hospital. The ER nurse who owed you quite the favor had come in handy this evening. You _smiled_ when she texted that Tyrion Lannister had received twenty-three stitches for the laceration he received across his face. You _never_ liked that half man. He spent far too much time with _your_ goddess. _You_ were the only one she _needed_ in her life. _Everyone else was a distraction_. You were _amused_ to learn that Myrcella had barged into the ER demanding to see her favorite uncle. Apparently, the plucky sixteen-year-old had been babysitting little Shireen Baratheon when she got the call about the fight in the club. She had brought along the _hideous_ child with her to the ER. The nurse texted you that Myrcella had _refused_ to visit her injured mother and looked _incredulous_ that anyone would even ask her. _You placed your sharpened knife down and move onto the ax._ Your goddess would be avenged.

_She belongs to you._  

You were in a _much better mood_ when you received confirmation that Cersei Lannister had received a broken nose, a broken jaw and suffered from multiple taser burns. You were _annoyed_ you couldn’t be the one to gift the lioness with pain, but you _will_ reward _handsomely_ whoever had. The text about Cersei had been followed by a series of pictures taken of Tywin Lannister arriving at the hospital with his latest arm candy, an attractive brunette who couldn’t be older than twenty. She had brown hair pulled into pigtails, and was wearing a University of King’s Landing cheerleader uniform. The back of her uniform read _UK Cat_. You figured she must have lost the letter _L_ on her uniform during a tumble with the Lannister patriarch. You were surprised to learn that the girl was one of Sansa’s dear friends and had stopped by to check on her. _That piece of information would be very useful_. Tywin was _refusing_ to even visit his _disgraced_ daughter and, instead, offered his best legal counsel to Miss Stark. _You set the ax aside and you stroke your gun reverently as you load the chamber with bullets_. Your goddess would be avenged.

_She belongs to you._

You _appreciated_ how many pictures the nurse had managed to take unseen. So far your _favorite_ was one taken of a _sleeping_ Sansa. She looked like she was a _princess_ in a fairy tale awaiting true loves kiss. _Your kiss._ You were a knight and she was your lady. One day you would lay her gently upon a bed fit for queen and _lick_ everyinch of her skin. _You_ would keep _her_ safe in a high tower locked away from the rest world. You would surround her with beautiful flowers and every lovely thing you knew she must _crave_. Then, she would be glad do to you all the things you always _craved_. Your cock _twitched_ in the anticipation of it all. You placed the gun down and pulled on a pair of rubber gloves, an eye mask and a nose plug. You had recently imported a rare bottle of Hellholt pepper extract from Dorne. The peppers were the hottest substance in the known world and had to be treated very _carefully_. You _knew_ any direct contact with the extract would cause the skin to blister and peel in under a minute. _You smiled._ Your goddess would be avenged.

_She belongs to you._

You saw another photo pop up on your phone. It showed _your_ Sansa surrounded by her friends and family. You _knew_ none of them could ever love her like _you_ did. You didn’t want that many people around _your_ goddess, but you could hardly complain, as you were not there yourself to stop them. You were satisfied that she would at least be protected while she slept. _You_ would hire personal _security_ for her tomorrow. She would be so _thankful,_ she would be so _grateful_. Soon, the two of you would be together, and she would _never_ be alone again. _You knew you needed to prove your undying love to her first_. You carefully put away the extract and equipment before you turned your attention to your _favorite_ hammer. Your goddess would be avenged.

_She belongs to you._

When she had arrived at the club, she took your breath _away_. She was the goddess made flesh. She was so beautiful in that dress and she had even forgone her _smallclothes_. You longed to _slide_ your hands up her dress. You knew she would feel so _smooth_ and _soft_. You _promised_ yourself, one day soon _,_ you would slide deep inside her and make her moan _your name._ You knew she was wearing that sexy dress for you,and you had been so _jealous_ as she was grinding her beautiful body against Sandor _fucking_ Clegane. You were filled with _rage_ at her conduct, but then she had _smiled_ at you, and you knew she was simply trying to make you _jealous_. You were _pleased_ by the lengths she would go to _play_ her little game. You hadn’t been giving her the attention she _needed,_ and she was making you pay for it. You _vowed_ not to make the same mistake again. You place the hammer down and begin checking your nail gun. Your goddess would be avenged.

_She belongs to you._

You were worried about the kind of aftercare she would receive once she was released. She had received three fractured ribs and a concussion from _Meryn Trant_. You doubtedany of her friends would give her the care she needed, so you texted your favorite spying nurse _Myranda_ to make herself available to _your_ goddess’s homecare needs. You would pay her extra, of course. Money was no object when it came to _your_ beloved. She needed to heal more before your relationship became _physical_. Myranda would make an _excellent_ nurse and she would double as _your_ eyes and ears. It would be up to _you_ to convince her stay in her apartment; you couldn’t risk her moving away. _Not now, when she was so close to you_. Your goddess would be avenged.

_She belongs to you._

You received word that Shae was already being released from the hospital, but she was refusing to leave Tyrion and Sansa behind. It was only after Sansa _insisted_ that she finally left the hospital being escorted by the _useless_ Hotpie, Sansa’s _favorite_ gay roommate. _Another_ man who _refused_ to leave your beloved alone. According to the text, Shae had gotten into a screaming match with some _orange-colored call girl_ before she left. Arya, who you _doubted_ was even _related_ you your princess, overheard the exchange and the next picture showed the hellion pounding away on none other _than_ Miss Margaery Tyrell _._ _You smiled at the picture._ It had been humorous to call in a simple favor to turn her orange in the first place. The security at Highgarden Memorial Hospital had thrown them both out. Arya had _already_ been thrown out earlier for getting into an altercation with Sandor _fucking_ Clegane. Somehow _,_ the girl had managed to sneak back in _unseen_. You would need to be cautious around her. She was a clever one. You survey all your tools and sit back _satisfied_. Your goddess would be avenged.

_She belongs to you._

You are _unhappy_ with your invited guest. Soon, he would learn just how _unhappy_ you truly are. You had _warned_ him to stay way from Sansa. _You_ didn’t think that little _rat_ would go _snooping_ around your things. He used to _fear_ you; he used to cower before your very _presence_. His recent promotion at work must have given him the _false_ impression of being _important_. You are _displeased_ that he stole _your_ scarf. _No one likes a thief._ The pink fuzzy scarf was a _precious_ gift Sansa has entrusted _you_ with, now she didn’t want anything to do with it because of him. You were _angry_ when Ramsay demanded money from you to keep quiet. You _thought_ you could handle the _bastard_ yourself, but when he _grabbed_ Sansa’s arm at the club, you had become truly _enraged_. Your goddess would be avenged.

_She belongs to you._

Ramsay arrived early much to your _amusement_. You ushered him in and _played_ the part of a most gracious host. He looked so _unsure_ of himself now that he was _here_. He had been here before _,_ but it was never under conditions like this. You _knew_ he must have been _afraid_ this was a trap. _He was right._ You offered him a drink of your finest liquor and he gratefully accepted it. Yet he _refused_ to drink any until _you_ proved it was _safe_. He was so _nervous_ and _jittery_. You _loved_ how he seemingly jumped at every sound. Ramsay loved to make others squirm, _you had seen it firsthand_. It was too bad he didn’t like being on the receiving end. Your goddess would be avenged.

_She belongs to you._

The confidence and bravado Ramsay’d had earlier today seemingly _fled_ the moment he stepped into _your_ home. _You_ had turned on the air conditioner to below sixty, and _you_ smirked when _you_ saw his teeth chattering from the cold. He was trying not to look bothered, but _you knew_ how much he hated being cold. _You_ laughed as he leapt up angrily and demanded the money. _You_ handed him the envelope stuffed with unmarked bills, but dropped it casually on the floor. _His greed overtook him as he scooped up the cash and so you overtook him with the cloth soaked in ether_. Your goddess would be avenged.

_She belongs to you._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to all our lemon drops who are sending off their baby lemon drops to school. May you find this chapter a welcomed distraction! The title of this chapter is based off the wonderfully creepy song by Tegan and Sara.


	24. Help!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the great words of Direwaggle: “I love the smell of Updates in the morning, it smells like Fictory.” I myself enjoy listening to the Beatles in the morning, hence the title. 
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy this chapter, here there be lemony surprises

When questions or crises arise in your life and you need someone to sniff out the answers, Ask the Hound. If you want your weekly dose of honesty from each issue of Stars Over Essos, then check out Ask the Hound!

Honesty is the only Policy, says the Hound. If you are brave enough to take a stark and honest look at your life then write in to SOE offices in The Building of the High Sparrow or email to [AsktheHound@SOE.com](https://us-mg4.mail.yahoo.com/neo/b/compose?to=AsktheHound@SOE.com). 

*Ask the Hound is censored for excessive profanity and meets the Westeros “Iron Throne” Standards of Decency. Uncensored versions of Ask the Hound may be received through an Iron Price Membership which also includes access to Online SOE Archives, interviews with SOE writers, and exclusive sneak peaks into upcoming SOE events.*

 

  **Ask the Hound**

 

 

 **Dear Hound** ,

My sister is dating a jerk. She has the worst taste in men, but I think her new boyfriend is the worst yet. The problem is I’m the only one who seems to realize it. He’s manipulative and has everyone eating out of his hand. I know better. He doesn’t fool me one bit. Every time she’s around him she winds up with some new cut or a new bruise. She claims they’re all accidents, but that’s what she said about the last guy. How can I convince my sister to ditch this loser before she gets seriously hurt? How can I make her see that she doesn’t need a man in her life to make her happy?

~Adult Orphan~

 

 **Adult Orphan** ,

It sounds as though you're dealing with a particularly difficult situation. Being able to perceive the assholes and the evil in this world is a gift, but it's also a curse. You mention that she has a history of these kinds of abusive relationships with manipulative men. It sounds as though she has fallen into a pattern and a cycle in her love life. It will take time and possibly intervention to help, but ultimately *she* will have to break that cycle. You can’t break it for her. You are clearly a supportive influence in her life. You’ve stood by her through multiple bad relationships, but you may not be all that she needs. If the violence continues, then you need to contact the appropriate authorities. Beyond that, continue to speak candidly with your sister and realize that the mentality of those who have become victims of domestic violence is not one they can easily break away from.  Only time and your continued support will likely bring your sister to her senses.

 ~Hound~

 

  **Dear Hound** ,

My girlfriend doesn’t seem to appreciate me, which is disappointing because she is a goddess and she is all mine. Whenever I shower her with compliments, she acts uncomfortable and looks like she wants to leave. I send her expensive gifts, but she never thanks me to my satisfaction. I take care of all her problems, but she acts completely indifferent to all my efforts. She refuses to talk to me about her feelings and I’ve been left to snoop through her diary. The other day I sent her a casual text asking her to have sex with me in public and she didn’t even respond! I ended up asking out another woman out on a date right in front of her to make her jealous and she didn’t bat an eye! Women confuse me, and my beloved is the most confusing one of all. I could use some guidance here.

 ~Veldari~

 

 **Veldari** ,

It sounds as though you're barking up the wrong tree. Trust me, I am the Hound. I know barking up the wrong tree when I see it. If your girlfriend is no longer interested in you, then you need to ask yourself why. Perhaps, since you've mentioned your own steps—such as sending her texts about public sex—to spice up your love life, you are in two different points in your lives. Have you talked to your girlfriend about how comfortable she is with moving your relationship to the next level? How slowly or quickly do you both want to move in your relationship? Has your insistence on placing her on a pedestal actually pushed her away? Women and men alike are not objects to be put under glass. Perhaps you need to have these conversations before you decide that your girlfriend does not appreciate you.

~Hound~

 

 **Dear Hound** ,

I thought I had to worry about my fiancé turning into a groomzilla but perhaps I needed to watch myself. We have now been permanently banned from marrying in a sept! My fiancé (let’s call him The Bobster) and I got into a minor disagreement with a certain intoxicated septon. Things took a turn for the worse when the creepy man slapped my bum, opened up my brand new box of fudge and began eating it! I was so mad that I may or may not have begun swearing at him like a drunken Bravosi sailor in front of the Most Devout. I also may or may not have pelted him with saltwater taffy when he screamed “Shame” at us as he ran away with my fudge. In my defense, the septon had it coming. Who knew a man of the faith could be a drunken fudge stealer? I feel terrible because The Bobster really had his heart set on marrying in a sept. I myself have no regrets in my dealing with that crazy septon and I refuse to apologize. How can I make this up to my fiancé?

~Fancy Kid~

 

 **Fancy Kid** ,

First, as my loyal readers know, I am not always the most devout, nor do I use the most sept-appropriate language. Second, I think you acted upon some base impulses and that's not always a bad thing. Being physically assaulted by a Septon must have been horrifying. Perhaps avoid the saltwater taffy missiles in the future. There are a lot of bundt cakes in this world; they hardly deserve your attention, let alone your taffy. Third, I suspect that the Bobster would be content to marry you in the middle of the Dothraki Sea if it meant having you at his side. You've written in before about your fiancé being a worrier and so very focused on the details of the wedding and the dinners, but it sounds as if, for now, you've taken on his anxiety. Neither of you could control the actions of that particular Septon, whom I believe you'll find has lost his robes and honorifics on page 3 of SOE, directly after the Kings Landing Gossip Spider, but you’ve remained in each other’s lives through thick and thin. Try to talk to the Bobster about your anxiety, be as open with him as possible, and I think you’ll find you will be pleasantly surprised.

~Hound~

 

 **Dear Hound** ,

I am so lucky that I’ve found the perfect guy. I often wonder why a great guy like him would spend any time with a girl like me. He is tall, good-looking, and a true gentleman. He has also been very respectful of my personal boundaries. He’s the total package, and did I mention how amazing he smells? He knows I’ve been in bad relationships in the past and agreed to take things slow. Which is good because, after a recent fall, I am still too hurt to do much of anything. The only problem is now he treats me like a porcelain doll. I mean we haven’t even kissed yet! My lips aren’t broken! I often find myself daydreaming about how lovely a kiss from him would really be. I just want to throw my arms around him and kiss him, but that wouldn’t be proper. Would it? I was always taught that the man should make the first move, and I don’t wish to chase him off with my wanton ways. What do I do?

~Ginger Pie~

 

  **Ginger Pie** ,

Screw propriety. Screw what you think society would approve of and what it wouldn't. You should try to speak with your perfect guy about feeling as though he views you as a porcelain doll. Talk to him and express exactly what you’re hoping for at this point in your relationship. If you don't speak with him, then he may never know. Asking for a kiss would hardly scratch the surface of the word "wanton". In fact, why don’t you just walk up to him, lean right in and whisper how badly you are craving the taste of his lips. Be bold; be daring, take a chance. You may be pleasantly surprised with the result. Another tidbit to think about: the societal pressures on women not to be perceived as "wanton" are just holdovers from when our society was feudal and truly trapped in the dark ages. If you know what you want and it doesn’t hurt anyone, go for it. Humans can be thicker than porridge sometimes, so you may have to initiate before you'll see the results you are longing for. Good luck.

~Hound~

 

 **Dear Hound** ,

I have the worst luck when it comes to men. In fact, I have a history of being the other woman in various relationships. I don’t usually care; guys simply aren’t made for monogamy. But, this time I’ve made a terrible mistake. I’ve been cheated on in the past, and that’s why I resisted getting serious with my boyfriend. He wore me down in the end, though. Well, I heard a rumor that my boyfriend was cheating on me. I was actually falling in love with him, and the thought that he had cheated on me with my best friend broke my heart. I reacted poorly, and I ended up hurting both of them. In the end, the rumor was just a rumor. I apologized, but neither one of them will even talk to me now. I mean, I know I messed up, but I was a victim too. They both seem to forget that part. How do I make them forgive me so we can all move on and put this unpleasant situation behind us?

~Luv2Sing~

 

 **Luv2Sing** ,

You began this letter to me fairly strong, stating that you made a terrible mistake. This shifts, though, when you say "I reacted poorly". If you've done something to hurt two people that are close to you, then you need to take full responsibility for your actions. Saying that a mistake is "terrible" indicates that you perceive it as quite serious. Serious screw ups are not things that you should brush off as a poor reaction. It will take admitting to yourself exactly what you did and then attempting to communicate with your boyfriend and your best friend. From your write in, I can tell that you have a certain amount of self awareness, you know that your past has been filled with craps and asses, but you have yet to accept that you have the power to break this pattern. Whether that's with your present boyfriend or not, I can’t say, but communication is going to be the key to breaking that pattern and patching things up, if it's possible, with your boyfriend and best friend.

~Hound~

 

 **Dear Hound** ,

I think my boyfriend is going to propose to me. I found matching wedding bands when I was moving my stuff in with him. The only question I have is what is he waiting for? I would say yes in a heartbeat! He is my whole world, and I want to profess my love for him for all to see. The only thing I can think of that might be holding him back is his family. His family is rather old fashioned and very anti-gay. They keep telling him it’s just a phase, and I know that hurts him terribly. How do I help his family understand this isn’t just something he will grow out of? Also, how do I pretend to be surprised for whenever he does pop the question? I’m terrible at keeping secrets and I’m an even worse liar. The suspense is killing me!

~The Cake Conundrum~

 

 **The Cake Conundrum** , 

You know, Cake, that honesty is always the policy that I most respect and know works best.  You and your boyfriend have been together for some time now and things are getting serious. Which means now is the time to really commit to being as honest with him as possible. It might not seem as though you can speak to him about his family, but if his family hasn’t accepted him in all his nature, then I’d wager a guess he needs to speak to someone about it. This conversation might also lead to him coming to the realization that you're the person who has been there for him where his family has not. As for acting surprised, I suspect that you'll be happily overwhelmed if and when your boyfriend does pop the question. Don’t try to act any one way, just be yourself, and feel and express the emotions that are burning inside of you at the time. Keep your head up, Cake, and while you’re getting up the nerve to talk to your boyfriend, try to take some time to appreciate yourself, your talents, and all that you've accomplished so far.

~Hound~

 

 **Dear Hound** ,

I am currently filled with remorse, because I saw my friends being attacked during a protest and did nothing to stop it. I had just found out I was going to be a father when a fight broke out. At that moment, I didn’t know if the thugs had guns or not, and I suddenly became filled with a fear I had never experienced before. To my everlasting shame, I froze. This isn’t like me at all. I don’t know what happened! I eventually intervened, but, by that time, a lot of good people were hurt. What kind of man stands by while common criminals are attacking his friends? I don’t feel good enough to be considered a man, much less a father. My friends forgave me when I explained my hesitance, but how can I forgive myself?

~Porkledpick~

 

 **Porkledpick** ,

Even trained veterans and the KLPD have moments in which they are stunned, struck with terror, or can’t find it in themselves to act foolishly or bravely, depending on your preference of diction. As for you, from your past write ins, I know you're used to being one of the people who steps up the plate when things get serious or situations turn south. However, you won't always be able to be that person, and beating yourself up over it will only exacerbate your anxiety. You say that you've spoken to your friends, but it sounds as if you absolutely need to continue to talk about this event with someone. If the remorse continues or escalates, then I must advise that you seek professional help. King's Landing is home to quite a few very good therapists, and there's no shame in seeking out their help. You ask what kind of man stands by while common criminals attack his friends. Well, the answer is simple: any man. Any man, given the right time and circumstances, can act the shining hero or be struck with fear and be unable to act as he might see fit. Similarly, how you begin to forgive yourself is the same avenue that you sought forgiveness from your friends. 

~Hound~

 

 **Dear Hound** ,

I keep having nightmares and I am afraid it’s affecting my work. My lover is very worried for me. He notices the dark circles and all the tossing and turning. He is sympathetic, but I don’t want his sympathy, I want sleep. My lover, my friend and I were recently in an accident and they were both hurt pretty bad. Thankfully, they are both recovering nicely which makes me feel guilty for even complaining. After all, I wasn’t the seriously injured, so I don’t know why I can’t get good night’s sleep. I take sleeping pills, but never seem to feel rested. I feel like I’ve tried everything, but nothing works. I’m stressed out and sad, and every time I try and close my eyes, I hear my poor friend screaming and the sound of glass breaking. It’s terrible! I was always the strong one, but now I feel so helpless. What should I do?

 ~Veridissima~

 

 **Veridissima** ,

“After all, I wasn’t seriously injured” is the kind of statement that should be a wake up call. Not a wake up call that says "you’re right", but rather one that lets you know that you yourself are not taking your emotions and your experiences and giving them the weight they deserve. You might not have been physically injured, but comparing grief and pain will get you nowhere. What you went through and your feelings about the situation are worthy of consideration. Your emotions are valid and of import to you, which means your friends should understand that they are things that need to be addressed and respected. By not taking your own emotions and experiences seriously, you're possibly repressing and this is helping to aggravate the post-traumatic stress I suspect you're experiencing. For the PTS, you may need to seek help beyond the written column, but speaking to your lover is a good place to start. 

~Hound~

 

 **Dear Hound** ,

My crush recently broke up with his longtime girlfriend, and he asked me out on a date. I turned him down because I didn’t want to be some rebound or, even worse, a regretful fling. We have been friends and co-workers for so long I just don’t want to jeopardize that. But now he’s acting strange. He’s going out of his way to compliment me. He baked me my favorite snack,   even though he hates baking. The other day, he even washed my car during a lunch break just because he said he felt like it. Surely he’s having some sort of mental breakdown? Is this some sort of weird mid-life crisis? Why is he acting like this? Can’t things just go back to the way they were?

~Little Raspeberry~

 

 **Little Raspberry** ,

Things can't go back to the way they were. Wanting things to go back to the way they were is a futile hope. Even if and when the situation resolves itself, things will never be as they were, simply because you can't ‘un’-experience any of the things you've experienced in both of your relationships. If his actions are genuine, then it sounds like his actions are the only way he truly knows how to speak to you about his interests. He attempted to ask you out, but now he's striving to show you how much you mean to him through gestures like washing your car. If you aren’t interested in more than friendship, then you’ll need to be honest and upfront with him. If he persists in making these kinds of gestures, then you will need to either commit to opening up a dialogue with him about the situation or commit to driving yourself crazy over it. I would not advise the latter. 

~Hound~

 

**Dear Hound**

Work has been really stressful lately. A lot is going on behind the scenes, and all I want to do is come home and relax with my girlfriend. Only, now we’re no longer alone. My girlfriend adopted a pet guinea pig and I don’t know what to do about it. He’s cute and all, but I find she is spending more time with the pig than with me. She dresses him up in little costumes, takes photos and posts them online. He is even becoming a mini furry celebrity. I didn’t know guinea pigs could have a fan base. She brings him with us on dates, and I feel like we never have time for the just the two of us. Is it wrong to be jealous of a pint-sized furball? Even if he is a pretty cute pint-sized furball?

~Three Paws~

 

 **Three Paws** ,

Feeling jealous in an extreme way is usually an indicator of one’s lack of confidence in one's position in another person’s life. It represents insecurity. That being said, you need to ask yourself why you feel threatened by a “pretty cute pint-sized furball”? If your girlfriend is doting on this Guinea pig, it may also be that she feels as if some part of her life had a void and she needed to fill it. If this is something that she's passionate about, then the best thing you can do is to try to find a way to support her in her passion and, through this, get back into being a central part of her life. At the very least, she'll appreciate how supportive you are and how you've placed yourself beside her and her new pet.

~Hound~ 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Direwaggle42 and Jennilynn411 are not healthcare professionals, licensed therapists, or actual advice columnists. Please take all questions and answers with a grain of salt and a pinch of forgiveness if we misspoke.
> 
> *Direwaggle42 and Jennilynn411 step into a spot light on stage*  
> *clear throats dramatically*
> 
> If we shadow-writers have offended,  
> think but this and all in mended,  
> that you have but stumbled here,  
> and blame these visions on the beer
> 
> *Direwaggle42 and Jennilynn411 exit, pursued by a moose*


	25. Fight For Your Right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All intellectual and artistic property borrowed within this story belong to the original author.
> 
> Jennilynn411 and Direwaggle42 are just taking these characters and places for a spin, like a early sixties gold Cadillac Eldorado being driven across the Mississippi straight to the heart of Memphis... 
> 
> or, oooorrrrr, like a tiny ass fiat from the same year being driven by a couple secret agents through the narrow streets of an Italian city-- Will THRUSH catch our heroes?? Will the men from UNCLE escape?? Could Steed and Peel ever meet up with Illya and Napoleon... perhaps have tea and some biscuits with Mother and Father.... in other news Direwaggle just created accidental head cannon for two other fandoms she has adored since childhood *excuses self to go run around flipping tables at my parents' house*

Dany finished wrapping the present she had bought for Tyrion. A first edition of _Lives of Four Kings_ had been difficult to come by. Thank the gods for Marya Seaworth and her “connections”. _What would I do without her?_

 

Dany only had a few minutes before the circus she called her small council arrived for the weekly meeting. It was all a cover for holding a surprise party for Tyrion. It had been Varys’ idea and she had to admit it was a great one. Sansa had ordered a vanilla cake with lemon frosting from her roommate, and Podrick had left earlier to pick it up. Just planning a party had seemed to lift everyone’s spirits.

 

The last two weeks had been nothing short of a nightmare, thanks to the paparazzi that had camped out in front of the building. She couldn’t prove anything, but she knew that Roose Bolton was behind this latest invasion of her company. Trusting Roose Bolton as a valued member of the board had almost cost Dany her company. _He couldn’t destroy my company financially, so now he’s trying to destroy my company’s image._ SOE had become fodder for the vultures below, and she sometimes wished the dragon fountain would come alive and gobble up the photographers whole. _Wouldn’t that be nice?_

 

She could hardly blame the paparazzi for their interest though. Club Oloi5 had been a total and complete disaster. Four of her employees had been involved in a widely publicized bathroom attack. The police were _still_ investigating the beating of Cersei Lannister. So far there had been no arrests. Meryn Trant had disappeared; _he’s_ _most likely hiding from Sandor_. No one had even seen Ramsay Snow since the bouncers had thrown him out of the club. He was a missing person that no one really missed at all. _Except maybe his father, but that’s assuming his father is capable of feeling anything._

 

The KLPD had called her earlier to announce they were sending over two detectives over to conduct an interview over his disappearance. Dany didn’t expect anything to come of it. She doubted any of her employees were involved with the case, and more importantly, she didn’t think KLPD had any competent detectives left. The whole department had fallen apart after Ned Stark’s brutal murder, and crime was at an all time high. Still, she would inform her staff to cooperate, and she made sure Sandor knew so that Sansa wouldn’t be left alone with any sketchy detectives.

 

With all this stress building, the only thing that let Dany sleep at night was knowing Tyrion, Shae, and Sansa were all making full recoveries. _My brave little soldiers._

At least Margaery Tyrell wouldn’t be bothering anyone for a while. Her most troublesome intern had been photographed wearing an Annie Rose original to club Oloi5. Dany had approved Petyr giving designer dresses to the interns for the opening. _Anything to keep the clients happy._ She just thought he would’ve had better judgment than to hand a beautiful, expensive designer gown over to someone who looked like a walking orange glow stick. Margaery had shown up to the club looking more like a tacky stripper than a representative for SOE. Annie Rose had been _furious._

 

As soon as the pictures hit the press, people had immediately begun gossiping that the designer had lost her touch. The whole thing was an absolute PR nightmare. To say that Annie Rose was upset was an understatement. The photos were so bad even Hodor cringed. To make matter worse, the biggest fashion show in Westeros was only months away. With one phone call, Annie Rose had blacklisted the magazine from the event.

 

Rumor had it, the reclusive Annie Rose along with the famous shoe designer Anona had collaborated together to create next seasons summer fashion line. A collaboration of this magnitude was unprecedented and would surely take the fashion world by storm. Excluding SOE from the event was dooming the fashion magazine to fail. It had taken all of Oberyn Martell and Petyr Baelish’s charms before the women relented and officially invited SOE to attend the show. Baelish may creep Dany out on a daily basis, but he was definitely a smooth talker. He was also extremely gifted behind the camera.

 

At the end of the day, the designing duo had only relented with the explicit understanding that certain conditions would be met. The most important one being that a certain orange intern be banned from the event entirely. In fact, the designers didn’t even want her anywhere within the borders of King’s Landing while the show was going on. It was no surprise when they requested the Yin Yang Twins to star in the show; they wanted their favorite designs to be featured in a ten page spread. What had surprised Dany the most was that they requested Sansa and the exotic beauty, Shae, to be in the show as well. Of course Dany agreed. This would allow them unprecedented access behind the scenes.

 

When Dany informed Shae of the request, the woman actually jumped up and down. Shae immediately ran off to tell Sansa the news, and although she hadn’t been there personally to witness the exchange, Jorah had informed her that the girls’ squeals of excitement could be heard throughout the floor. She was told Margaery and Mal had been furious. _I really don’t care what either of them think._

 

After the tape of the bathroom went viral, Miss Tyrell had become an overnight celebrity. She was the villain everyone loved to hate. She was even planning on appearing on next season of _Big Brother-Pentos_. Dany wanted to fire Margaery on the spot, but Tyrion had advised against it. He stated that bad publicity was still good publicity, and they could turn this in their favor. So after discussing the matter with Shae and Sansa, they had all come out with a suitable arrangement for the human version of a candy corn. Miss Tyrell was now the official correspondent for SOE along with Mal. In exchange, Margaery was to keep up her now signature orange glow and wear whatever hideous clothes designers threw at her. She was a paparazzi favorite, but not in the way the girl had hoped.

 

Dany smiled as she looked at her phone. Mrs. Clara had texted her sneaky pictures of Sandor and Sansa staring into each other’s eyes. _Do they realize how obvious they are?_ Those two were crazy about each other, and there was an office pool about when the two of them would become official. Petyr Baelish had found out and complained to HR; Dany laughed when she found out because she knew Mrs. Clara had started that very pool in the first place. Dany was far from innocent, though. She had placed the first bet. _Lady Clara was my bookie in college. How do people think we met anyway?_

 

Sansa had moved in with Sandor while she “recovered” and while Sandor had sworn he was sleeping on the couch, Dany wondered how long that would last. The more he denied anything was going on, the more she was convinced of the opposite. She could practically count out her winnings. The only other person who might beat her was Bronn. They were only a day apart in the pool and she knew it would be a close call. However she had anonymously slipped Sandor tickets to _The Tale of Florian and Jonquil_. Sandor would hate it, but she’d heard from a very reliable source that it happened to be Sansa’s favorite play. _I owe you big time, Missandei._ All that stubborn mule needed was a gentle push into the arms of a certain redhead. _You’ll thank me later, Sandor. Trust me._

 

It was easy to focus her time on Sandor’s love life and less on hers. She hadn’t told anyone, but she and Jorah had gone out drinking last week and somehow that had led to the hottest make out session she’d had since she’d made out with that rockstar Daario backstage at last years fashion show. _I should really avoid Direwolf Vodka shots. His tongue ring was nice, though._

 

She had been worried that Jorah would think less of her now that they’d made out. She was even afraid he might ask more from her than she was comfortable giving. But her assistant simply remained the same effective employee he had always been. It was almost as if the kiss meant nothing to him. _Why are men so impossible?_ She hadn’t had strong feelings for anyone since her beloved husband had passed. _And I’m feeling things for Jorah I shouldn’t._ It had been years since she had ridden anyone like a stallion; she would be remiss if she pretended she didn’t miss it. She wondered if she was too rusty. _Sex couldn’t have changed that much, could it?_ She would talk to Ellaria about this as soon as possible. If anyone knew about current sex trends, it would be her.

 

Dany looked up as the board members began shuffling in. She smiled as Tyrion approached. He was smartly dressed today, his usual messy hair carefully styled. _Shae’s doing no doubt._ The stitches across his face were clearly visible, but the swelling had gone down. She was pleased to see that mischievous grin back on his face, and he was even flirting with Mrs. Clara again. Her employees had been through quite a trauma, but it seemed to have only strengthened their resolve and friendship.

 

Her late husband’s words echoed across her mind. _This world will either make you or break you, Khaleesi._ She was glad that Lannister bitch and whoever the hell that Trant guy had been hadn’t broken them. She would think about that later. Right now, Tyrion’s Welcome Back Surprise Party was about to begin. And, despite Oberyn’s pleadings, there would be no strippers.

 

 

 

 

 

The last two weeks were something of a blur to Tyrion. At first it was the pain medication for his face and for the trauma, a hazy cotton packed blur stitched together with careful hands and crimson thread. Then it was the nights, curling around Shae as best he could and waking after sleeping like a dead man to find her crying softly into their sheets. On those nights, the yesterdays and tomorrows blurred together to play a painful melody between the future and the past, he and Shae unable to escape its rhythms but forced to dance on. Finally it was today, this morning that felt like he was standing in the midst of a whirlwind. All the faces and the offices blurring past him, so familiar and so new after all that had happened at the club.

 

Stepping through the door to the SOE conference room that housed the usual small council meetings, Tyrion was all the more glad that Shae had insisted that he put on “his most dapper suit.” He wore it and his smile like armor now. A few people tried to speak with him and he deflected their blows of innocent inquiry and made a beeline for his favorite head of HR. Nothing lifted the spirits like chatting with such a funny and smart specimen of the administrative work force.

 

Though Tyrion’s face still felt stiff with the healing wound, _the doctors did do a spectacular job stitching the humpty dumpty pieces of my head back together again_ , Tyrion smiled broadly at Mrs. Clara. She smiled back, the small crows feet about her eyes only making her features feel warmer. She pulled out a chair and sat as he approached, leaving them of a fairly equal stature, her hand a protective sweep over her belly and her eyes a protective sweep over his face.

 

“Glad to have you back, Mr. Lannister.” She hummed out. “I have so missed all the shenanigans that you and your boys get into.” She was laughing lightly as he shrugged his shoulders, mouth a little dry from lack of use in the last two weeks. “Of course there have been plenty of events to stir up the hives with or without you.”

 

“Ah yes, I do believe I have heard of a few of those events.” Tyrion laughed and for a moment, Mrs. Clara’s face flickered between being worried and wanting to laugh as well. “Intimately aware.” He added with a wink. “I’m glad you haven’t replaced me with the Spider. Yet.” She shook her head, laughing, her face set in mock shock, one hand spread across her chest, the coral and golden rings on two of her fingers glinting in the unforgiving fluorescent lights.

 

“Varys has his uses, but he never brings me the right kind of chocolates.” She clucked her tongue and Tyrion chuckled along with her.

 

_A good reminder than I need to import a few more boxes of those liquor cherries and the citrus rinds as well._ Tyrion pulled out a chair beside Mrs. Clara and sat down. More people were filtering in and he had a good peripheral view of Dany. Whenever this meeting was going to begin, he would not be caught unawares. _Not again, anyway._

 

Tyrion’s mind wandered almost as quickly as his tongue was moving now he and Mrs. Clara were speaking. The news that Roose Bolton had been at the bar had sent him into a second wave of shock and panic in the ambulance. Yet, even now, thinking of the man in the safety of one of the SOE offices, Tyrion felt his gut tighten and his heart beat pick up. _Hadn’t that vile excuse for a man and father done enough?_ All those years ago now the attempted corporate espionage still nibbled at the back of the little lion’s mind. It had only been a few years before Catelyn Stark had left her beloved position as ‘Ask the Cat’ that Dany had taken over as CEO. She was the youngest CEO in Kings Landing history at that. _And of course Roose Bolton had set his beady weasel eyes on taking over the company after the death of Drogo… what a snake in a world of ladders to be climbed._

 

Absentmindedly Tyrion pulled a glass from the center of the long conference table and poured himself water. Fingers tracing over the new tablecloth, Tyrion smirked back up at Mrs. Clara. Behind her, Oberyn was tapping his foot.

 

With a wave of his hands at his paramour, Oberyn howled out, “Where are the exotic dancers? You say I should not call them strippers, but I was hoping that at least a girl might climb out of a cake.” A roll of a flashing pair of eyes and a quick little smack to the back of Oberyn’s handsome head shut the company’s majority shareholder up for a bit.

 

_Oh Oberyn, would that this small council meeting could be so… enjoyably_. Tyrion flicked his eyes over to Shae and he flinched a little. Her gaze said that she knew exactly what he had been thinking. Ducking his head and wishing he could casually whistle and walk out of the room, Tyrion turned back to Mrs. Clara. A few minutes passed and Tyrion let his mouth loosen and his mind turn back to the way Shae always seemed to see right through him.

 

Somewhere a door shut and Tyrion was brought out of his reverie.

 

The room was quiet. His own voice alone trailing off as he was saying, “and you see that’s how the cookie—.”

 

Narrowing his gaze at Dany he brought his mismatched eyes to scan the room. The hair at the back of his neck was nearly on end and he felt in truth like a lion cornered on the plains. Dany’s lips twitched and then a full-fledged smile broke across her sun toasted too often serious features.

 

“Tyrion.” Tyrion nodded and looked back as coolly as he could. _I must be off my game more than I thought, I didn’t notice that there are twice as many people in this room as are on the small council_. The hulking shape of Clegane shifted into view and Tyrion noted that the man looked nearly as uncomfortable as Tyrion felt. Sansa was not leaning into him, but like a willow beneath the shade of an oak, her body was still bent towards the scarred giant.

 

“Yes, CEO Stormborn?” Tyrion chose to use her proper name and title for once and the effect was immediate. Dany frowned which in turn made Shae roll her eyes.

 

“Mr. Lannister,” her voice was foreign milk and honey to his ears. Shae stifled something like a laugh and continued in a more serious tone. “Do you know why we have all gathered here?” She added with a flick of her dark hair and a burning gaze that set Tyrion’s mind a blaze and his hands to sweating with the urge to reach out and caress her check. How tired she looked. _But less tired than a few days ago. She’s sleeping a little better now, thank the gods_.

 

“I do not.” Somewhere Clegane growled out a ‘oh for gods’ sake, get on with it’ and Tyrion could hear Sansa peeping up and shushing her knight in tin can armor. Looking back towards his right at the thick skulled love birds, Tyrion saw a flicker of movement, Clegane’s hand sliding down Sansa’s back, fingers lingering on the eldest Stark girl’s hip. He could almost see the goose bumps raising on the young woman's arms and the smile she flashed up at her scarred guard dog was brilliant.

 

Turning back to Shae and Dany, the room seemed to be nearly buzzing with energy. He raised a golden eyebrow and waited.

 

“Well, Shae and I put our heads together,” _oh gods, how bad could this be_ , “and we realized that we needed to celebrate your return. After all, you are a hero of SOE, Tyrion! So we are all gathered here to throw you a welcome back party, surprise!”

  
And before him a large white and yellow cake was placed, a serving knife handle towards his hand. Cheering went up around the small conference room and Tyrion felt a knot form in his throat. _This is silly. It is silly to feel this way_. Tyrion told himself. _When was the last time anyone did something like this for you?_ A voice asked that he thought might be what his mother would have sounded like if she had not died during his birth. _Everyone deserves to know how much they are loved._ The voice in the back of his mind murmured like the maiden’s hymn, sad and sweet. _Even you_.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Direwaggle42 will be on the road in an hour or two to drive back to the land without consistent internet. She wishes to thank all the lovely lemon drops for their patience and send out a big hug and an especially big thank you to Jennilynn411 (who has been the most gracious and wonderful of hostesses)


	26. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are many wonderful versions of the song "Home" but for this particular chapter Jennilynn411 and Direwaggle42 suggest that you give a listen to the Phillip Phillips version :)
> 
> As per usual, all characters and places borrowed within this story belong to the original author.  
> Jennilynn411 and Direwaggle42 are just borrowing them and taking them for a ride, like a roller chair down a long sloping hallway.

Sandor glanced to his right and felt the tug of his cheek that told him his ugly mug was trying to slip into a smile. He had found himself doing that a lot more since Sansa had started sleeping at his place. Knowing she was safe was part of it, but how could any man not be glad when a flaming goddess was just behind a partition and a large studio flat away? It was sweetest torture he knew, to live so close to her, to see her every day. _If that’s what kills me in the end, then I’ll die a less bitter man and the gods can fucking drop me into the Sevenhells where I belong. After all, they gave me a glimpse of the Sevenhevens on earth._

 

Sandor glanced up from the road when Lady gave a big bark, her haunches snuggled against her mistress’s lap, her tail wagging a mile a minute, and tongue lolling long against her slack jaws.

 

“Someone is happy.” Sandor grunted and the Little Bird made a funny little squeaky noise and blushed, biting her lip as if to hide the smile she deserved to have painted across her porcelain features like Weirwood trees on the first men’s pottery. “Lady,” Sandor coughed out, shifting in his Percheron’s buttery leather interior, “she sure likes this vet Sevenhells of a lot more than I ever liked going to the bloody hospital.”

 

“They’re very kind to her.” Sansa hummed, hugging her panting beast to her chest. “Little Miss Lady hasn’t always been treated as she should.” _And neither have you, Little Bird._

 

 

 

 

When they stepped through the veterinary clinic door, Lady virtually dragged her mistress to the front desk. Ruthy, the young woman with the delicate trail of paw print tattoos on her wrist, leaned forward over her reception desk and received a lick upon her cheeks before Lady received a laughing scolding. Sansa looked back at Sandor and raised an eyebrow then turned back to the young woman, a question forming on her perfect lips.

 

“He’s still here.” Ruthy graced Sandor with a tentative smile. “Why don’t you go ahead and head back to see the doctor, Lady,” she addressed the wagging wolf dog, “and Mr. Clegane, you might visit our furry menace?” The question was laced with hope and Sandor wondered if she had seen what he had seen in that pair of chocolate and gold flecked wild eyes on their second checkup for Lady.

 

Behind Ruthy a few calendars hung, detailing important dates and fun events around Kings Landing. The most prominent one had a series of Guinea pigs dancing across the splash page, their small fireman hats balanced precariously on their heads, the one dressed in a KLPD uniform looking rather smug in the lower left hand corner.

 

Pulling himself away from the calendar, Sandor grunted, “Okay.” And allowed himself to be led away by a different young vet technician he thought was named Chloe. Her bright blue smock and sneakers stood out in the fluorescent lights of the veterinary hospital, her smile just a cheery.

 

The first time he had seen the great beast of a black dog that Chloe Blue was leading him towards, all he had seen was himself. The dog was being led past Lady’s examination room, Sandor standing just outside while Sansa and Lady were told that everything looked clear and that the chicken thief just needed to come in one more time to be sure. The beast looked to be a cross between one of the black furred Northern Shepherds, so loved by the men of the wall, and the Westerland Ridgebacks, which at one time had been bred to hunt lions. The dog was huge, on par with Lady or perhaps a hand taller at the shoulder, and as it passed Sandor, growls thrumming through his muzzled mouth, it swung its head angrily towards Sandor. And the dog stopped dead just as Sandor’s heart seized up. Then the dog was being led away and Sandor found himself muttering to Sansa that he would be back in a minute and he trailed behind the dog like a pup himself.

 

Sandor knelt before the large crate, the hunched black shape looking suspicious at first and then rushing the door, to press his body, fur sticking through in funny clumps, as close to Sandor’s tentative hand as possible.

 

“He sure seems taken with you, Sir.” Sandor bit back his usual response and let the fur run beneath his wiggling fingers. A warm tongue slid across his knuckles and the beast whined, paws a skitter and dance as both man and dog stepped back a pace to take in the other. “We were all so happy when little Jess found her forever home with Ms. Stark’s friend.” Sandor shook his head, _right, Hotpie and Micah finally fucking buckled down and got their asses in gear and adopted that ragamuffin. Jess will soon be the best fed and most spoiled critter this side of the Street of Steel. As she should be._ Chloe Blue pipped up. “So, Sir, is today the day?”

 

Sandor would have asked ‘what kind of a fool question is that?’ but he knew all too well that _yes, today is the day I take this strange dog home_. A thought chuckled through his mind. _Stranger, you’re about to have a new home, away from these bars and tile floors and cold lights. Might even have a Lady friend if you play your cards right._

 

“Yes.” He breathed out at last and Stranger gave a booming yip, something caught between a puppy’s first yodel and an older dog’s understanding that he was bound at last for a loving home. “I’d like to take him home today.”

 

 

 

 

The Little Bird was smiling ear to ear when she walked outside, Lady looking forlornly back at the Veterinary clinic, to find Sandor standing by his sleek black and yellow Destrier with a light grey leash hooked to Stranger’s new collar.

 

It had been Sansa who had first seen the change in him after he saw Stranger for the first time. Her eyebrows had quirked together and her mouth had opened then shut with a silent click. It had taken a little prodding but she got it out of him over cold pizza and lemonade back at his apartment, how he had always wanted a dog but they could not have pets in group homes. She had hugged Lady close and murmured that dogs could save a person’s life as surely as any human could save a dog’s.

 

Getting Lady and Stranger acquainted had been something Sandor had spent the last fifteen minutes contemplating without much progress. In the end Lady took introductions upon herself, jerking forward from Sansa’s hand, body curling into a fuzzy ‘U’ and her head tilted to the side. Stranger for his part looked taken aback, as if the beast had rarely met another dog willing to approach him, then he had given a little jump up to land with his paws splayed, eyes sparkling.

 

“Well, thank the gods they like each other.” Sansa chuckled, one hand covering her mouth and the other hand dropping to grab Lady’s leash back up as the wolf dog showered Stranger with careful kisses.

 

“Thank the gods, indeed.” Sandor growled out, Stranger’s ears flipping back to listen to his new alpha’s words, then forward to listen to Sansa’s.

 

“Hey, Sandor.” He hummed looking down at the two dogs winding about each other and pulling their owners closer. “Maybe we should head to the park and let these two run together?” When Sandor did not reply quickly she began back peddling. “I mean, not to say we—if you’re tired or want some alone time. A new dog is—.”

 

He hushed her with a shake of his head and a roll of his grey eyes.

 

“Little Bird.” Her lips perked back up from the small pout they had been in the process of falling into, like a bird leaping from a snowy branch. “I think the bloody park is exactly where this mangy beast needs to be.” Stranger harrumphed as Sandor opened the passenger door and motioned for the two dogs to enter. Lady watched Stranger sigh and slink into the back. She looked to Sansa and the front seat and then to Stranger.

 

“Go on girl.” Sansa sang softly. Lady gave Sansa’s hand a quick lick and leapt graceful as a Baratheon Stag into the back seat. “Looks like Lady might be in love.” Sansa laughed as she buckled herself into her seat and Sandor closed the door. Sandor could just make out the blush in his review mirror as he walked around the car and folded himself into the driver’s seat. _Love, puppy love._ Sandor’s brain buzzed. _You probably look like some love smitten pup following the Little Bird around like you have been._ Then a harsher voice hissed out, _more like an ugly guard dog._

 

Revving his engine, Sandor let the thoughts tumble behind them with the empty clatter of strung tin cans on asphalt.

 

 

 

 

When Sandor and Sansa finally got back to the Street of Steel District, made it up the flight of stairs, and through the heavy metal door to Sandor’s flat, both were yawning, evening beginning to set outside with the crackle of a few lights and the whispering mutterings of the mouths. Piling onto the couch Lady and Stranger bore their play blackened eyes back at their long legged owners.

 

“Were you asked to get up, Miss Lady?” Sansa asked, hands on her hips. Lady bowed her head and crept off of the couch to be followed by her new shadow, Stranger. Sansa took the place the dogs had just vacated and yawning laughed, “I think we ran those two pretty ragged.”

 

Sandor shook his head, a smile quietly gracing his face, his back turned to the Little Bird. Once Sandor put down food for the two beasts, he turned back to find Sansa curled up on the couch, her feet tucked under her cute bum like a bird roosted on a perch.

 

Her shoulders were rising and falling with even breaths and her face was pressed into the pillow where he had been laying his head each night for the last two weeks.

 

“They’re not the only ones that are beat.” Sandor grated out, the words gravel beneath his booted feet, a quiet crunch that he alone could hear. Bringing his arms around her, he pulled her into his chest, she seemed to weigh even less than the last time he had carried her. _Perhaps then she was weighted down with more worries then or maybe she has lost weight from all the godsdamned shit she has been put through at SOE._ He did not fucking know, but he wished he did. He wished he knew what he could do to make his Little Bird sing again. _If you’d let me, I could help you to forget the words and sing a song that would tear down the walls of your cage_.

 

 _Down boy_ , he chided himself as he crossed his apartment.

 

Balancing her against his chest and pulling the duvet cover of his bed back, he carefully set her on the large mattress. She fit. She fit like she had always been there. Just like the place she had in his heart.

 

Leaning down, his lips were rough and a few strands of hair caught in the straggle of beard he needed to shave in the morning. The skin of her forehead burned him and branded him. _You’re the only fire I’ve ever wanted to keep close_.

 

Turning away, sighing, and making his way back to the couch, Sandor brought his shirt above his head, kicked his way out of his jeans, and tried not to think how his pillow smelt like her.

 

 

 

 

 

The curtain of auburn obscured her face as she moved from his bed, so large and yet so small in the space it occupied. The couch seemed to stretch and twist in his hazy, half hard mind, accommodating his girth and her slender form easily.

 

The light through the windows caressed her cheeks as she twisted her pale neck and bared her face and throat to him. The primal impulse to leap at her, to take her down like some lovely long legged rabbit, to run his teeth across her tender flesh and make her squirm beneath him thrummed in his veins with an insistent tattoo. His short nails dug into the couch, keeping his body in check.

 

She stepped closer, her feet seeming to dance across the floor, falling as quietly as all the hopes and dreams he had dropped by the wayside throughout his life.

 

As she walked towards the couch she was shrugging out of her pajama shorts, letting them pool at her feet, then her tank top was flung behind her, leaving her in just a lacy lilac bra and a pair of lavender panties that caused his groin to tighten, his mouth to water, and his fingers to twitch.

 

One hand reached out for him, finger tips brushing his scarred cheek.

 

Turning his face towards her as a dogwood towards the sun, he felt her thumb catch his lower lip.

He could taste the salt on her skin and feel every minute ridge on the pad, his k9 holding her there for just a breath longer, then he released her with a blink like sloe gin and a smile that flashed with the tinkling of ice and silver bells in a crystal glass.

 

She never tried to push him back and take full control as a few women had—the ones that were willing to fuck facing him but only if he did little other than take what they gave him. _Just a dog being given scraps_ , the thought broke through his needy panting mind.

 

Nor did she wiggle her ass and tell him like that mistake with the nasal voice and the cold eyes that the only way he would be touching her was if she was blind folded or he took her like the mongrel dog she knew he was, kept his mouth shut, and his hands to her hips.

 

Shame burnt in his chest and gut, he should have walked away from that girl. If he had known then what he knew now, that the maiden made flesh would be crawling over him, then he would have told her to fuck herself with a posthole digger and find another cock to fill her need.

 

Instead the Little Bird slid into his arms, her warm little form a press and purr, his body a rub and rumble. Until as his hands found _her_ hips, he tugged her up and even closer.

 

Grinding his hips forward and against her dampening silk covered mound he could hear her moan joining his groan as his hands tightened and he ground harder into her again and again.

 

 

 

 

Sandor woke with his heart racing in his broad chest, battering itself against his ribcage. The dream was one he was more than fucking intimately acquainted with, but this time it had felt so real.

 

His fingers jumped as a soft, lithe, and warm body shifted back against his lap.

 

His sleep blurred eyes were closed tight, _huh, I’m still dreaming_.

 

His hips jerked forward as a little mewl hummed from the lass tucked against his front, her ass rotating slightly, leaving his eyes to roll back in his foggy head. Over the pounding of his heart, he could hear the distinct little puffs of breath from her lips while his hardness bumped uselessly against a couple layers of fabric. Still, he was giving her a little friction all the same it seemed as she continued to rub herself deliciously against him.

 

When the girl gave another more frustrated whimper, she arched her back and brought her head to thump against his chest. Her hair felt silkier and smoother than the panties of the little bird of his dreams. At last he opened his eyes to see red. A sea of crimson curling waves washed his chest and then it finally dawned on him that this was not in fact a new facet of the same old dream.

 

 _Why would she join me?_ He wondered dazedly. After all, it was only in his dreams that she let him touch her like this. _Perhaps she had a nightmare_.

 

She was dressed in her long sleeved, too big t-shirt, her nipples peaked beneath the fabric and tantalizingly close. Her pants, he now registered, were a pair of leggings and left her chastely covered and well protected from his slumbering assault.

 

Her beautiful face was drawn in an expression he never thought would be fully directed at him. Even after everything, Sandor could not help the doubt that seeped into his mind, the thoughts that nibbled at him like mice on rope. _She’s probably dreaming of some lad she knew before all of this shit_.

 

As her lips parted, her legs shimmied against each other. Her own need was nearly as apparent if less obtrusive as his own. Her nose wrinkled and her face scrunched up, then a single word caught in her throat and tumbled through her cracked lips to shatter against Sandor’s heart and ears: _Sandor._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed that zesty ending ;)
> 
> In other news, writing zest is hard, maybe even harder than Sandor is feeling right now...
> 
> *smacks head into table*
> 
> *blushes like a cardinal that's just been told about carnal desires*
> 
> *bows out of room after tripping over cowboy boots and smacking head into door frame*
> 
> *grabs cat and runs with beer in the opposite direction of the lemons that are rolling after our intrepid writers a la the giant boulder in Indiana Jones*


	27. Talking In Your Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kiss: Noun- A touch with the lips in kissing.
> 
> Derivatives: Kissable

“Sandor. Gods. Yes, more, Sandor.”

Sansa smiled as she blinked lazily at her surroundings. _If only all my dreams could be this good._

“Good morning, Little Bird.” Sandor was gazing at her with a curious expression.

They were nose to nose, and Sansa once again found herself lost in his steel grey gaze. Two things dawned on Sansa in that instant. First, she had fallen asleep on a half naked Sandor. _Gods, look at that body._ Second, Sandor had never seen her without makeup on. _This is a disaster!_

“Good morning, Sandor. Did you sleep well?” Sansa mumbled as she tried to hide her face in her mess of tangled tresses.

He gently tucked a curl behind her ear. The contact made her skin tingle with anticipation. The dream suddenly came back in vivid detail.

“Funny, I was going to ask you the same thing.”

Sansa blushed and buried her red face into the crook of his massive neck.

He kissed the back of her head and slid his arms around her in a comforting embrace.

“If someone has such a vivid dream, it’s only polite to talk about it.”

Sansa bolted upright and gasped. She was now straddling him and sitting upright. _This is not ladylike._ Sansa couldn’t care less, though. Sandor knew she had a sex dream about him, while _on_ him. _Gods!_ He was trying to make her squirm. _The cad!_ Sandor was chuckling at her shocked expression, causing her to bounce slightly. Sansa wasn’t wearing a bra, so she crossed her arms over her chest to keep them from bouncing too much. Her expression must have been hilarious, because Sandor just started laughing harder.

“Sandor, stop. I’m not wearing a bra,” she snapped at him.

He stopped laughing and his eyes grew dark with desire. _So you wanted to make me to squirm? Well, two can play this game._

“Do you really want to hear about my dream, Sandor?” She made sure she scooted her bottom back slightly. She _accidentally_ brushed against his erect manhood.

He sucked in his breath and closed his eyes. He just nodded his head.

Sansa smiled and cradled his muscular arm, while she lightly traced his bulging veins with her fingertips. His skin reacted with a flush of goose bumps.

“We were walking in a glass garden at night.” Sansa was doing her best to speak in a sultry tone. It sounded more breathy than anything else. _Hopefully he thinks breathy is sexy._ She slowly laid his arm back down and began tracing his lower abdominal muscles. His muscles seemed to ripple under her touch like a stone hitting still water. _Gods. I didn’t even know you could have a muscle there._

“Then what happened?” Sandor’s eyes were closed, and his question came out in a raspy whisper. Sansa smiled as she traced further up his torso.

“You pushed me up against the trunk of a lemon tree.” She stilled as Sandor slid his hands to her hips.

His face was contorted in deep concentration. “Continue.”

“You lifted me up and I locked my legs around you.” Sansa squeezed her thighs around him to show the effect. Sandor made an “Oh” remark with his mouth. She smirked and gently lowered herself back on top of him.

“I was naked, and you had a can of whipped cream.” She spoke softly to him as her fingers slid further up his chest.

He groaned and slid his hands up her back slowly. He was under her shirt, his calloused fingers gently caressing her skin. Sansa couldn’t stop her own moan from escaping.

“Sandor, I would very much like to kiss you now,” she whispered in his good ear. Her lips brushed softly against his earlobe.

Sandor’s eyes shot open followed by a raspy “Fuck me sideways.”

Sansa giggled at him. “Actually, if it’s all the same to you, I thought we could start with the more traditional positions first.”

Sandor gave her that wicked grin that turned her knees to mush. He placed his large hands on the back of her head and gently lifted his head to meet hers. Just as their lips began to touch, a giant wet husky tongue lapped up both their faces.

“Lady! This is not a family kiss moment,” Sansa scolded her beloved husky, who was blissfully unaware she had just interrupted a very important kiss.

Sandor groaned and slumped back down as both Stranger and Lady began to shower them both with canine kisses.

“I can take them for walk while you shower.” Sansa sadly slid off him to leash up the excited dogs.

“You don’t have to that, Little Bird.”

“I don’t mind, really. Think of it as my way of saying thank you.” She clasped the leashes and gave him her best smile.

“You’re still healing, Sansa. I won’t let you get hurt on account of a couple of mutts.” He took the leashes away from her.

“Lady isn’t a mutt. She’s a beautiful husky.” She snatched the leashes back.

“If she’s only a husky, then I’m a ballerina.” He took the leashes away from her, his face set in a determined position.

Sansa took a long look at her dog before she grabbed the leashes back from Sandor. “She is _mostly_ husky. Besides Lady is gentle. She walks beautifully.”

Sandor barked a laugh at her. “Only for you, I think.”

Sansa gaped at him. _How dare he insult my beautiful Lady._

“Oh, stop looking at me like that. It’s not the girl I’m worried about. It’s the boys you have to watch out for.”

_Is he talking about Stranger or someone else?_

He gave Stranger a stern look and tried to take the leashes again, but Sansa held them close to her.

“Sandor, you need to stop treating me like I’m going to break. I’m completely capable of walking two dogs.”

“You did fucking break, Sansa! Can’t you see that? That motherfucker broke your fucking ribs!” Sandor pulled her into him, enveloping her slender frame in his protective hug.

“I should have been there fucking protecting you. But I wasn’t. I wasn’t paying any fucking attention. You’re the best part of my fucking life and I don’t—” He seemed at a loss for words, and Sansa thought her heart would burst.

_He thinks I’m the best part of his life._

Sansa stood up on her tiptoes to kiss him before, Lady started pushing her gently toward the door with her massive head.

“They really need to pee.” She broke away from his warm embrace and tugged on his big coat before slipping on a pair of unnecessary rain boots.

“I don’t want you to keep treating me like I’m a porcelain doll. This little bird has wings and she doesn’t want to be kept in some gilded cage.”

Sandor seemed to think on her words, because he slid her knit cap over her head, his fingers brushing against her neck, filling her with butterflies.

“Sansa, why were out here this morning?” He was now zipping up the coat and Sansa briefly imagined him unzipping one of her dresses.

Sansa bit her lip and looked at the floor. _He doesn’t remember? What am I supposed to tell him?_

“I-I had a nightmare about Joffrey.”

_I’ve never told him about Joffrey._

“I was a princess in a castle and he took me on a walk.”

Sandor’s hand stilled on the zipper.

“He, uh…he made me…I had t-to look at my father’s head…it was on a-a spike.” Sandor wiped away a tear that had rolled down her cheek.

“I was crying, so he had Trant beat me. Like he always did.” She looked up at Sandor’s face, her blue eyes becoming blurry with tears. “That wasn’t the scary part though. Y-you weren’t there. I kept calling out for you, but you never came.”

He wrapped her in another tight hug. “Sandor, my biggest fear is waking up one day and not being able to find you. Pretty dumb, isn’t it?”

“No, Little Bird. It’s not fucking dumb.” He kissed the top of her head again.

“So that’s why I had to check on you. I needed to make sure you were here and that you were safe. “You had thrown your blanket on the floor, so I decided to tuck you back into bed.” She glanced up at him to see if he was angry about the invasion of his privacy. His face seemed calm enough so she swallowed and continued.

“As I was tucking you into bed— you sort of grabbed me by the waist and pulled me on top of you. I tried to wiggle free, but you only held on tighter.”

Sandor placed his hands on her shoulders. “Did I hurt you?” His face was etched with worry and Sansa thought her heart would explode with happiness. _He really does care about me._

“No, Sandor, you didn’t hurt me. Even when you’re sleeping, you’re gentle.” She gave him her sweetest smile, and the worry that filled his face moments before began to fade away.

She smirked at him and cocked an eyebrow. “Now that I think about it, though, when you scooped me up you did mumble something.” She cleared her throat before continuing with her best Sandor impression. “You called me, ‘My foxy little Bird’.

She gave him a sly smile at his startled expression. She stood up on her tiptoes and kissed his scarred cheek, before dashing out the door with the two dogs practically dragging her along. She winced at the strain of it. Sandor was right about this being a bad idea _. I’ll keep that to myself, though._ Her ribs were still healing, and she absolutely refused to let that pushy nurse from the hospital check up on her. _It’s her smile. She has Cersei’s smile._

Sandor lived in a tougher neighborhood then she was used to, but she felt safe with these two massive dogs by her side. He lived in the industrial part of town. Bleak buildings, various garages, and factories lined the streets. Even the people she passed on the streets seemed more somber. She wouldn’t call this part of the city dangerous, but it wasn’t very welcoming either.

Sandor’s jacket was far too big for her and she felt drowned by the fabric. She wouldn’t complain, though. It had his scent and she always found that comforting. Across the street, a truck stopped and a group of men piled out. They seemed oddly familiar, and she was left with a sense of dread in the pit of her stomach. She walked quickly back to the apartment, but she could tell they were following her.

_Calm down, Sansa. It’s only your imagination._

Sansa opened the door to the apartment and let the dogs inside. They rushed over to their food bowls like the ravenous wolves they were. Sansa was so pleased that Stranger took to Lady so well. Sandor had rescued a stray no one wanted, and, in a way he had rescued a piece of himself in the process. While the dogs played a game of tug o’ war, Sansa packed her small duffle bag and changed her outfit into something more presentable. It would be the first time the dogs were left alone together in Sandor’s apartment. She hoped they wouldn’t destroy anything.

Sandor got ready quickly. They had fallen into a comfortable routine. He would shower, shave, dress and drink a cup of coffee. Sansa would wake up, put on makeup, make the bed, and make him a cup of coffee. She would dress while he sipped on his coffee and reviewed emails on his laptop. They still stopped by her apartment every morning on the way to work so she could shower and get changed into something more fashionable. _The whole thing is silly. I should just move in with him._ If he really wanted to her to move in, he would ask her. She couldn’t bring it up. That would be most unladylike. 

In no time, they were driving toward her place. _At least we live close_. They rode in a comfortable silence as Sansa daydreamed about spending time in that backseat with Sandor. His hands caressing her naked skin, the scent of lemons hanging heavily in the air, the two of them steaming up the windows.

_Focus, girl. Those are definitely unladylike thoughts._

Still, a part of her wondered what Sandor would do if she ever told him about her fantasy? _He’d probably drive into a tree._

As they rode up the elevator, Sansa leaned into Sandor. She felt safe in his arms, she felt loved. He brought his hands around her waist and softly pulled her close, burying his head in her hair. As they reached her level, he hit the emergency stop button before the doors could open.

“Well?”

Sansa just blinked at him in surprise. “Well, what?”

“Fuck, I’m bad at this.” He ran his hand through his dark hair. “Move in with me Little Bird.” She was stunned.

_It’s like he can read my mind._

“Fuck, I mean not like move in, move in. But, uh, you know.” He started pacing back and forth. “You’ve had your wings clipped, and until you can get back on your feet—” He looked sheepishly away before adding “please.”

Sansa let out a very unladylike squeal of joy and hugged him. He turned his face toward her and she licked her lips in response. Before she knew it, their lips met in a combustible explosion of ecstasy that enveloped her whole being. The kiss sent sparks up her spine, and she aggressively pushed him against the elevator wall, demanding more of his lips and attention. He lifted her up with his arms and placed her on the elevator railing her back against the cool steel wall. She locked her legs around his torso to bring him in closer.

Suddenly, her lemon dream was becoming a lemon reality.

“Fuck” was all he murmured during their passionate kissing. Her arms slid around his neck. His left arm was bracing her against the elevator wall, leaving his free hand time to explore her bust. As his fingers caressed her erect nipples, she moaned into his ear and clenched her thighs reflexively.

“Sandor.” She moaned his name and let her tongue dance along his scarred lips. He began kissing down her neck, and she could feel a familiar warmth gathering down below. She was moist, she could feel it. In a haze, she wondered if Sandor could feel it as well. Her body felt like an inferno, and she was happy to let it burn. They abruptly stopped when they heard a polite cough.

Sansa looked over at Walda Frey, her shy neighbor from downstairs. Her hair was a mess and the buttons on her blouse were buttoned haphazardly. _If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was doing the walk of shame._ Then, she noticed Roose Bolton standing next to her, the elevator doors continually opening and closing on his extended arm. The man was impossible to read, but he honestly looked surprised to see Sansa in such a compromising position. Sandor let her gently down so Walda could step in.

“Thanks for the lovely evening, Roosey.”

_Roosey?_

Roose Bolton nodded at her as the elevator doors shut, never taking his eyes off Sansa.

This was becoming awkward, so Sansa walked quickly to her apartment, still feeling his eyes on her. She didn’t have to look at Sandor to know he was scowling back at him. Sansa had been in that same elevator when Roose had asked Walda out. It was uncomfortable, because even though he was talking to Walda, he was staring at Sansa as if to gauge her reaction.

Roose Bolton had officially killed her mood, but as soon as they entered the apartment Sandor began kissing her neck in a way that made her knees weak. His hand slipped under her shirt, and Sansa sighed dreamily as she leaned back into him. She opened her eyes only to give a yelp.

Arya was standing in the middle of her living room, wearing nothing but a pair of ugly old boxers and a ripped black tank top. She was drinking straight out of a milk carton with a horrified look on her face.

“What the fuck are you staring at, wolf bitch?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ug! I have been sick all week! An annoying cold has decided to take up residence in my chest and it won't go away. It's as stubborn as I am apparently. 
> 
> I am on a regimen of DayQuil and NyQuil. I need a new quil...Is there another kind of quil I should try? 
> 
> Help me dear lemon drops for I seek your wise council.
> 
> On a happier note. HOW PERFECT IS THIS SONG :)


	28. You've Got a Friend in Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arrrghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh *Direwaggle42 slowly drags herself back from the graduate school pit*
> 
> Let me begin by saying all honor and glory be to the wonderful and blessed Jenni of the Lynns!
> 
> She and Fancykid have helped keep this Direwaggle from going bonkers a few times.
> 
> Where have we been, lemon drops I hear you ask. Where have we been?
> 
> Well the answer is busy. Sad but true each of us lives very busy lives.
> 
> All characters and places borrowed within this text belong to the original author. Jennilynn411 and Direwaggle42 are just taking them for a spin. Like a 68 thunderbird on a wet street lit by neon lights.
> 
> Without further ado here is the next update!

“Mycah, hurry up, or we’ll be late.”

 

Hotpie shook his head. His boyfriend soundly ignored him as he sang at the top of his lungs in the shower. _He’s as bad as Sansa. It would take a miracle to get us there on time._ Hotpie frowned as he glanced as his watch.

 

He decided to stop fidgeting and focus on Jess. _Our Jess._ He kneeled beside his new three-legged companion. Ever since he laid eyes on his precious girl, he knew he wanted to bring her home. She was so helpless on the side of the dark road. _If I ever find out who dumped you… they will rue the day, my sweet girl._ Hotpie laughed as Jess clumsily rolled over so he could rub her belly. She still had stitches in from her amputation, but with proper care she was expected to make a full recovery.

 

  
“Tomorrow, you’ll get to meet Lady. I just know you two will be good friends. I hear Sandor adopted a dog as well. I hope it was that cute Chihuahua and not that black monster they had there.”

 

Jess blinked her soft brown eyes at him before emitting a yawn that curled her tongue in an adorable way. Today, she would be home alone, and Hotpie was worried she would be lonely. He kissed her head gently and was met with a few kisses of her own, causing him to laugh. They had spent over three hundred gold dragons buying her new toys, food, a bed, and everything else a dog in desperate need of pampering could ever want. Hopefully, she wouldn’t be too bored.

 

Hotpie plugged in his iPod and shuffled through the classical music section. _At least_ _she will be comforted by proper music while we’re away._

 

“You know, hot stuff, you could have joined me in the shower.” Wearing nothing but a white towel, Mycah kissed his boyfriend’s cheek and then whistled as he poured himself a cup of coffee.

 

Hotpie momentarily forgot what he was doing. “I didn’t want to be any later than we already are,” he answered with a smirk, never taking his eyes off that glorious body. _My Mycah must have been chiseled by the Gods_ _themselves_ , he decided.

 

His boyfriend snorted and slowly strolled toward the bedroom. Hotpie threw a wadded up kitchen towel at the back his head, before Mycah started laughing and ran to the bedroom to hurry up. Hotpie rolled his eyes at his antics, but couldn’t keep the smile from blooming across his face.

 

He finally chose the perfect music and set the volume low. He knew dogs had sensitive ears; he wanted to comfort Jess, not traumatize her further.

 

“Goodbye, my sweet girl. Be good. Promise me you’ll be good while we’re gone, okay?” He kissed the top of her head.

 

Mycah emerged from the bedroom in a comfortable-looking pair of jeans and a tight t-shirt. Hotpie’s mouth went dry. _Maybe we can be a little late._ Hotpie shook his head. _No, that won’t do at all. Today is too important to be selfish._ He watched as his boyfriend also kissed Jess on the head before they headed out.

 

“Are you sure we have to do this?” Mycah practically whined as he locked up the door.

 

“Yes. Arya owes me an antique pie pan. Plus, she still needs to buy Sansa a new table. This will be our first outing together as a big group. It will be exciting, don’t you think?”

In reality, he would be happy if they didn’t end up killing each other.

 

“Um…yeah. Exciting isn’t the word I would use, hot stuff.” Mycah shook his head incredulously. “Besides, I have a confession to make about that pie pan. I bought it online.

 

Hotpie blinked at his boyfriend in surprise. “What?”

 

Mycah looked around nervously as they neared the Frog. “I saw it on sale online so I bought it.” He looked absolutely ashamed of himself, and Hotpie couldn’t help the bellowing laughter that bubbled out of him. Mycah found himself laughing right along with him, and soon they were both wiping the tears from their eyes.

 

“Whatever you do, my love, don’t tell that to the Stark sisters. They may kill me, if you do.”

 

Mycah gave him a perfect smile and crossed his heart.

 

They kissed lovingly before they loaded up in the eco-friendly Frog. _I really should get a bigger car, but this saves me so much on gas._

 

“Was it even an antique pie pan?” He side glanced to Mycah, who was staring intently out the window, avoiding his gaze.

 

“Yup. This definitely needs to stay between us.” They drove all the way to Sansa’s apartment still suppressing giggles.

 

When they parked the tiny green car in the parking garage, Hotpie stiffened as he saw Roose Bolton exiting with a smile on his face. _Roose doesn’t smile._ He shuddered as he thought about the many things the King of Darkness would smile about. Kicking the homeless? Setting an orphanage on fire? Telling random children they were adopted perhaps? Whatever Roose was smiling about, it left him with a bad feeling.

 

As they neared the apartment, they heard screaming and the sound of glass breaking. _So this is what he was smiling about,_ he thought bitterly. Hotpie had seen some of the not-so-subtle looks Roose sent to Sansa. If he were a violent man, he would have knocked him out months ago. _Of course, I don’t have a death wish either_.

 

Mycah threw open the door and uttered a gasp. Sansa was hiding behind Sandor in a rumpled shirt, and Arya was waving something around in a threatening manner. _Wait,_ _why is she using my Grandmas urn as a weapon?_ Gendry was standing in the kitchen, naked as his nameday covering his penis with a bundt pan. _My bundt pan._

 

“Arya! Did you have sex in my kitchen?” Sansa was yelling in a panicked voice, and Hotpie was worried she would have a panic attack if she didn’t calm down.

 

_I’m going to bleach the entire kitchen top to bottom, if you did._

 

“Don’t be gross, Sansa! We had sex in your bedroom. I just gave Gendry head in the kitchen.”

 

_First, we’ll burn the mattress. Then, we’ll bleach the kitchen._

“Arya!”Sansa face was full of disgust, and he could hardly blame her. His face was mirroring the same expression.

 

“Oh, come off it, Sansa! You were more than willing to bang your guard dog here against the front door.”

 

_Oh?_

Arya wasn’t finished, and all the tears that slid down Sansa’s face didn’t quench the feisty Stark’s fire. “What would mother say, Sansa, if she saw how _easy_ you’ve be—

“Fuck off, wolf bitch. Your problem is with me. Leave your sister out of it.” Hotpie was pleased to see Sandor come to Sansa’s defense.

 

“ENOUGH!”

 

Everyone winced as Mycah roared at the room. Arya yelped and dropped the vase.

 

“Grandma!” Hotpie ran over to the ceramic shards mixed with ash that had once held his grandmother. _What do I do now?_

He could feel Sansa beside him in a moment. She rubbed his back and whispered soothing words to him as he stared in horror at the mess at his feet.

 

 

 

 

Mycah saw red.

 

Well, in truth he saw the scarlet of Sansa’s hair right after the shattering crack of the vase that had been in Arya’s hands only milliseconds before. She whipped her head to look, shock written on her delicate features, back at her sister then at Mycah.

 

It took less than a breath for her to run to Hotpie’s side and the same amount of time for Mycah to be toe to toe with one of his oldest friends. _Oh, Arya, what have you done._

“Wolf bitch,” rumbled through Sandor’s lips but Mycah raised a hand and Sansa’s hound came to heel.

 

“Arya Stark,” to her credit the grey eyes were turned towards the floor. “You and Gendry,” the young man managed to look even more sheepish than he already did, cake dish blessedly covering his groin, “will go to,” a shudder passed down Mycah’s rod straight spine, “ to Sansa’s room, get properly attired, and then when you come back out here, and you will apologize.” Before Arya could bark out any protests, Mycah raised his hand again and pulled back his lips in a snarl. “You will apologize to Sansa and you will apologize to my Hotstuff.” Mycah cleared his throat. “You will apologize to Hotpie.” Arya and Gendry both had their full focus trained on the ginger giant. “Go.”

 

He waved them away and like a couple of rats and they scurried off to Sansa’s bedroom.

 

When the two were gone, he and Sansa helped Mycah collect the ashes and when they were swept into a pan, Mycah looked up to find Sandor holding out a glass box with a fitted, plastic lid.

 

“Know it isn’t exactly dignified.” Sandor shifted his wide shoulders like he might be able to make his bulk decrease with the small nervous action. “It’ll do until we find a fitting vessel later today.”

 

Mycah saw Hotpie’s chin quiver. Then the love of his life reached out and took the glass container and sniffling deposited his grandmother’s remains. Sandor’s big paw flexed and then disappeared into one of his pockets. It was easy to see how uncomfortable the big man felt.

 

Mycah knew that feeling all too well, _after all, meeting family is always tricky and emotional. And Sansa doesn’t have closer family than the people gathered in this small apartment._ Mycah turned at the creaking of the bedroom door. _If one of those people hasn’t mucked it all up._

 

“Gendry, why don’t,” Sandor grumbled out with a huff and a head jerk, lips twitching, “…why don’t you an’ me go into the hall.” Gendry nodded eagerly, the angry flash from his pint sized partner lost on the big lug. Taking a slow breath, Mycah looked down at Arya. The girl was wearing a shirt three sizes to large, one that was surely Gendry’s, a pair of leggings, combat boots, and a chip on her shoulder nearly as visible as the daggers she shot at the door Sandor Clegane had just walked out.[MD1] 

 

“I’m going to leave the room now, Arya.” His voice sounded older. He thought he sounded almost like his father. Perhaps like his father had when Mycah had been little and the man’s words of discipline were not laced with disgust or the kind of distrust that comes from a betrayal. _Or what someone sees as a betrayal_. Much of that was behind Hotpie and himself, but still the hard edges were tough to smooth over. It was tough not to still feel the cut of many of the words that had dropped from too many careless lips.

 

Sansa and Hotpie moved carefully to the ugly brown couch, the one Sansa detested and he had spent a few of his best nights on, crashing during a respite on a tour.

 

“Sandor, Gendry and I will be outside. When you are done…” He left it at that and turned away, long strides brought him to the door, past lace and lilacs, and then out onto the hallway. The hallway, which always looked large and grand compared to most apartment’s, looked small with the third man stepped out. It was a funny thing to see Gendry Baratheon looking almost diminutive, but Sandor was remarkably large. _I suppose Sansa feels safe with someone so very muscular._ A smile twisted Mycah’s lips for a moment. _Perhaps Hotstuff feels the same about me. I hope he always feels safe at my side._

 

 

When the Stark sisters finally exited the apartment, Hotpie following behind them with his hair a bit of mess and his eyes misty, Mycah watched Arya. The girl seemed to have finally realized how much damage she had done.Not just the physical damage, but the emotional consequences as well.

 

Mycah threw his arm around Hotpie’s shoulders; the smooth warmth separated by a few scraps of fabric a quick caress away. Giving his man a bit of a squeeze, Mycah thrummed out a noise of appreciation.

 

“Alright gang,” Hotpie chirped out, a plump elbow bumping Mycah’s ribs, “let’s get that pie pan.” Groans rose up from Arya and Sandor almost simultaneously, but Sansa and Gendry both gave rueful swats.

 

“Two vehicles?” Mycah asked without need.

 

“Definitely.” Sandor chuckled, his laugh closer to a landslide than a babbling brook. “I’ve seen that little mummer’s car your boyfriend there calls a car.” Sansa linked her lithe willowy arm with the thick limb pressed to Sandor’s side. Sandor cleared his throat as they stepped onto the elevator going down to the street level. “Got a Percheron Destrier.” Sandor’s eyes were trained somewhere around the numbers arranged above the elevator’s doors, blinking as each number blinked red and then white.

 

“What year?” Gendry asked, a smile skipping across his lips. Mycah smiled, he could see the way Arya was itching to ask her own questions about the car. As much as she surely still hated Clegane, she was a car lover herself.

 

_Cars, its common ground at least and that’s something_. Mycah thought hopefully. They piled out of the elevator, Hotpie and himself headed towards the Frog, Gendry, Arya and the lovebirds headed towards and black and yellow beast. _Right now, all we need is a little common ground._

The music on the radio was a gentle hum as Hotpie bit his lip, giving Mycah a quick side glance.

 

“I do like it when you use your no nonsense voice, Mycah.” Mycah laughed, watching Gendry and Arya slide into the back Sandor’s Percheron. “I told Sansa and Arya that we’d head to the Antiques district downtown.” Mycah took a deep breath and smiled.

 

“Rough start but I think this is going to be a good day, Hotstuff.” Mycah nudged Hotpie with a thick shoulder. Hotpie flashed a smile so bright it put the sun and moon to shame.

 

“I think you’re right, Mych. It can only get better from here after all.” Hotpie sniffed. “Besides, I believe we’re going to not just a pie pan but an antique bunt pan too. Things are really looking up for all of us.” Mycha leaned against the window and basked in the King’s Landing morning sun and the warmth of his lover’s optimism.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sad but true, this will be the last update for the foreseeable semester... so when the winterbreak comes around, then, lovely drops of the lemons, then you shall receive many sevenmas presents :)
> 
> ps. Keep Jennilynn411 in your thoughts, she has had her wise-teeths (the ones that are dumb enough to do the bad thing) removed :) she's doing well, but you know, a few kind thoughts never hurt ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter has derived its name from a song or album title.  
> Many thanks to Fancykid for acting as our beta and for really being the inspiration behind Stars Over Essos!


End file.
